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girls  who  are  standing  '  where  the  brook  and  river  meet,'  and 
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J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY,  Publishers, 
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Mollie's    Prince 

A  NOVEL.  By  ROSA  NOUCHETTE 
CAREY.  Author  of  "NELLIE'S 
MEMORIES^  "THE  MISTRESS  OF 
BRAE   FARM;'    Etc.     <+^+^+^J*fx+?x*i% 


I 


PHILADELPHIA 

J.   B.   LIPPINCOTT    COMPANY 

1899. 


Copyright,  1898, 

BY 

J.  B.  LippiNcoTT  Company. 


GIFT 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  I.  pagb 

In  the  Lime  Avenue 9 

CHAPTER  II. 
"Monsieur  Blackie" 16 

CHAPTER  III. 
"King  Canute"  Comes  Back .. 24 

CHAPTER  IV. 
The  Ward  Family  at  Home 32 

CHAPTER  V. 
Fairy  Magnificent 40 

CHAPTER  VI. 
Queen  Elizabeth's  Wraith 47 

CHAPTER  VII. 
A  Humourist  and  an  Idealist 55 

CHAPTER  VIII. 
Mollie's  Baby-House 62 

CHAPTER   IX. 
Rosalind  and  Celia 71 

CHAPTER  X. 
"It  is  the  Voice  of  Sheila" 79 

M85Z383 


Contents 

CHAPTER   XI.  pack 

"A  Noticeable  Man,  with  Large  Grey  Eyes" 88 

CHAPTER   XII. 
The  Pansy-Room  and  Cosy  Nook 95 

CHAPTER  XIII. 
Concerning  Guardian  Angels  and  Ithuriel's  Spear     ...    102 

CHAPTER  XIV. 
Thursdays  at  the  Porch  House 109 

CHAPTER  XV. 
Orlando  to  the  Rescue 116 

CHAPTER  XVI. 
Sir  Reynard  and  the  Grapes 124 

CHAPTER  XVII. 
44  Like  Ships  that  Pass  in  the  Night" 131 

CHAPTER   XVIII. 
Joanna  Tangles  Her  Skein 139 

CHAPTER  XIX. 
A  Check  for  the  Black  Prince 146 

CHAPTER   XX. 
"  Dad's  Little  Betty" 154 

CHAPTER  XXI. 
A  Child's  Creed 162 

CHAPTER   XXII. 
Between  the  Acts 169 

CHAPTER   XXIII. 

Across  the  Golf  Links 177 

6 


Contents 

CHAPTER   XXIV.  PAGE 

"Lost,  Stolen,  or  Strayed" 184 

CHAPTER  XXV. 
A  Wet  Night  and  a  Difference  of  Opinion 191 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 
A  White  Vellum  Pocket-Book 198 

CHAPTER  XXVII. 
An  Idealist  in  Love 205 

CHAPTER  XXVIII. 
"But  Yet  the  Pity  of  It  !" 212 

CHAPTER  XXIX. 
Barmecide's  Feast  and  a  Brown  Study 218 

CHAPTER  XXX. 
Suspense 225 

CHAPTER  XXXI. 
Down  by  the  River 233 

CHAPTER  XXXII. 
"I  Will  Never  be  Faithless  Again 240 

CHAPTER  XXXIII. 
A  Quixotic  Resolution 247 

CHAPTER  XXXIV. 
"I  Have  Wanted  My  Old  Sweetheart" 254 

CHAPTER  XXXV. 
"What  am  I  to  Say?" 261 

CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

"See  the  Conquering  Hero  Comes!" 267 

7 


Contents 

CHAPTER  XXXVII.  PAGB 

A  Devout  Lover 274 

CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 
Mollie's  Prince 281 

CHAPTER  XXXIX. 
Everard  Yields  the  Point * 289 

CHAPTER  XL. 
The  Veiled  Prophet 296 

CHAPTER   XLI. 
The  True  Story  of  Lady  Betty 302 

CHAPTER  XLII. 
M Wooed,  and  Married,  and  A'" 309 


MOLLIE'S   PRINCE 


CHAPTER   I. 

IN   THE   LIME   AVENUE. 

"  Thou  knowest  my  old  ward ; — here  I  lay,  and  thus  I  bore  my  point. 
Four  rogues  in  buckram  let  drive  at  me." — King  Henry  IV. 

"  An  I  have  not  forgotten  what  the  inside  of  a  church  is  made  of,  I  am 
a  pepper-corn." — King  Henry  IV. 

In  this  age  of  transition  and  progress,  when  the  pleasure- 
seeker,  like  the  Athenian  of  old,  is  for  ever  searching  for 
things  new  and  strange ;  when  old  landmarks  are  ruthlessly 
demolished,  and  respectable  antiquities  are  shelved  in  outer 
darkness ;  then  to  some  conservative  minds  it  is  refreshing  to 
stumble  upon  some  old-world  corner,  fragrant  with  memories 
of  the  past,  and  as  yet  untouched  by  the  finger  of  the  de- 
stroyer. 

Cleveland  Terrace,  Chelsea,  is  one  of  these  spots — the  cob- 
webs of  antiquity  seem  to  cling  with  the  vines  to  the  tall, 
narrow  old  houses,  with  their  flagged  courtyards,  and  high, 
iron  gates  and  small,  useless  balconies.  There  is  something 
obsolete,  old-fashioned,  and  behind  the  age  in  the  whole 
aspect  of  the  place. 

One  could  imagine  some  slim,  demure  damsel  in  a  short- 
waisted  gown,  not  long  enough  to  hide  the  dainty  shoes  and 
sandals,  with  a  huge  bonnet  disguising  a  pyramid  of  curls, 
tripping  down  the  few  worn  steps  and  across  the  road,  on  her 
way  to  join  her  friends  at  Ranelagh. 

Just  opposite  is  Chelsea  Hospital,  with  its  scarlet  and  blue- 
coated  pensioners,  basking  in  the  sunshine ;  grand  old  veterans 
who  have  grown  grey  with  service,  their  breasts  decorated  with 
the  medals  they  have  won — some  in  a  hale,  green  old  age, 


Mollie's  Prince 

others  in  the  sear  and  yellow  leaf,  toothless,  senile,  tottering 
slowly  but  surely  towards  their  long  home. 

One  reads  a  whole  page  of  history  as  one  gazes  at  the  worn, 
wrinkled  old  faces ;  ah  !  they  have  been  young  once,  but  now 
the  battle  of  life  is  nearly  over  for  them ;  the  roll-call  will 
only  sound  once  more  in  their  ears.  Let  them  sit  in  the  sun- 
shine and  tell  their  old  stories,  and  fight  their  battles  over 
again  in  the  ears  of  some  admiring  recruit.  How  their  dim 
eyes  sparkle  with  senile  enthusiasm  !  "  There  were  two  of  the 
black  devils,  but  I  bayoneted  them  one  after  another — spitted 
them  like  larks ;  and  serve  them  right,  too.  That's  where  I 
got  this  medal ;"  and  here  a  fit  of  asthmatic  coughing  impedes 
the  bloodthirsty  narrative. 

One  can  imagine  the  thrilling  tales  told  round  the  fire  to- 
wards night  as  the  grim  old  warriors  nestle  cosily  in  the  high 
wooden  settle,  while  envious  comrades  watch  them  from  afar. 
How  heavily  the  poor  wooden  legs  stump  through  the  long, 
echoing  corridors  !  Grey  hairs,  old  wounds,  the  chill  stiffness 
of  decrepit  age — well,  thank  God  for  their  peaceful  harbourage, 
where  the  weary  limbs  can  rest  in  comfort. 

There  is  a  sweet  old  spot  just  where  the  long  Lime  avenue 
leads  to  old  Ranelagh,  adjoining  the  little  plots  of  garden 
ground  cultivated  by  the  pensioners.  One  golden  afternoon 
in  September,  when  a  fresh,  pleasant  breeze  was  rippling  the 
limes,  a  girl  in  brown  came  down  the  avenue,  and,  as  she 
tripped  past  the  gnarled  and  twisted  tree-boles,  the  slanting 
sunbeams  seemed  to  meet  and  envelop  her,  until  her  shabby 
frock  became  like  Cinderella's  robe,  and  the  green  and  golden 
banners  overhead  were  a  canopy  of  glory  above  her. 

Who  does  not  know  the  beauty  of  a  lime  avenue  in  the 
early  autumn,  when  the  very  air  is  musical  with  faint  sough- 
ing, and  every  leaf  adds  its  tiny,  vibrating  voice  to  the 
universal  symphony — when  children  and  birds  and  sunshine, 
and  all  young  living  things,  seem  to  have  their  own  way,  and 
play  in  unison. 

The  girl  was  coming  up  from  the  river  in  the  direction  of 
old  Ranelagh,  and  she  was  walking  with  so  light  and  airy  a 
step  that  one  could  have  imagined  it  set  to  music — for  her 
feet,  which  were  very  small  and  pretty,  though,  alas  !  shabbily 
shod,  seemed  scarcely  to  touch  the  ground. 

She  was  small,  almost  childish  in  stature,  with  a  thin,  erect 
little  figure,  and  a  pale  oval  face,  framed  in  short,  curly  hair, 
and  at  first  sight  people  always  called  her  plain  :   "  an  insig- 

10 


In  the  Lime  Avenue 

nificant,  puny  little  thing" — that  was  what  they  said  until 
they  saw  her  eyes — and  they  were  the  most  wonderful  and 
spirituelle  eyes  in  the  world.  And  after  that  they  were  not 
so  sure  of  the  plainness. 

For  comparisons  are  odious,  and  there  is  no  hard  and  fast 
rule  with  respect  to  feminine  beauty;  at  least,  tastes  differ, 
and  here  and  there  a  Philistine  might  be  found  who  would  be 
ready  to  swear  that  dark  spirituelle  eyes,  brimful  of  intelli- 
gence and  animation,  with  a  mirthful  sparkle  underneath, 
were  worth  a  score  of  pink-and-white  beauties,  in  spite  of 
their  fine  complexions  and  golden  hair. 

Just  at  the  end  of  the  avenue  two  old  pensioners  were 
sitting ;  and  at  the  sight  of  them,  and  at  the  sound  of  their 
raised  voices,  the  girl  began  smiling  to  herself.  Then  she 
stepped  quietly  across  the  grass,  picking  her  way  daintily, 
until  only  a  tree  divided  her  from  the  old  men;  and  there 
she  stood  shaking  with  silent -laughter. 

"I  tell  you  it  is  a  lee,  Jack;  there  were  three  of  them,  as 
sure  as  my  name  is  Fergus  McGill.  Look  here  ' ' — and  here 
the  speaker  rose  stiffly  to  his  feet.  He  was  a  tall  old  man, 
with  a  long  grey  beard,  and  the  pinned-up  sleeve  and  the 
filmy  look  of  the  sightless  eyes  told  their  own  tale.  His 
breast  was  covered  with  decorations  and  medals,  and  in  spite 
of  his  high  cheek-bones,  his  massive,  almost  gigantic,  figure 
and  grand  face  would  have  become  an  Ajax. 

His  companion  was  a  short,  sturdy  man,  with  a  droll  physi- 
ognomy; his  light,  prominent  blue  eyes  had  the  surprised 
look  of  a  startled  kitten,  and  he  had  a  trick  of  wrinkling  his 
forehead  as  he  talked  until  his  eyebrows  disappeared  ;  and 
when  he  took  off  his  cocked  hat  his  stubby  grey  hair  looked 
as  stiff  as  Medusa's  crest  of  snakes. 

Wide-awake  Jack  was  the  name  by  which  his  mates  ac- 
costed him — in  reality  Corporal  Marks.  He,  too,  was  deco- 
rated, and  had  a  wooden  leg,  which  he  found  useful  in  con- 
versation, when  emphasizing  some  knotty  point.  He  was 
tapping  the  ground  pretty  smartly  at  this  moment,  as  he  cut 
himself  another  quid  of  tobacco. 

"  Lees  !"he  returned,  in  a  huffy  voice,  "  it  is  the  truth  and 
nothing  but  the  truth,  and  I'll  take  my  oath  to  that." 

But  here  a  little  peal  of  girlish  laughter  interrupted  him. 
These  two  old  men  loved  each  other  like  David  and  Jonathan, 
or  Damon  and  Pythias,  or  like  any  other  noble  pair  of  friends, 
and  would  have  died  for  each  other,  and  yet  would  wrangle 


Mollie's  Prince 

and  argue  and  spar  fifty  times  a  day ;  and  the  chief  bone  of 
contention  was  a  certain  episode — on  an  Indian  battle-field 
half  a  lifetime  before. 

Human  nature  is  sadly  faulty — and  even  in  Chelsea  Hos- 
pital there  were  mischievous  spirits ;  and  on  cold,  windy 
nights,  when  old  bones  ached,  and  there  was  general  dullness, 
and  the  draughts  made  one  shiver  and  huddle  round  the  fire — 
then  would  one  or  another  slyly  egg  on  Sergeant  McGill — or 
Corporal  Marks — with  some  such  question  as  this : 

"  Was  it  three  of  them  Sepoys  that  McGill  bayoneted  before 
he  got  that  sword-thrust — or  only  two  ?" 

Or  perhaps  more  cunningly  and  artfully, — 

"  I  wish  I  had  nabbed  two  of  those  dratted  Sepoys  like 
McGill.     Marks  can  tell  that  story  best " 

"Two,  John  Perks!"  interrupted  McGill,  wrathfully,  "it 
was  three  that  I  killed  with  my  own  hand,  and  the  third  was 
so  close  to  me  that  I  could  see  the  whites  of  his  eyes — and  the 
devil's  smile  on  his  wicked  lips — and  I  laughed  as  I  ran  him 
through,  for  I  thought  of  those  poor  women  and  children — 
and  it  is  the  goot  English  I  am  speaking,  for  I  have  forgotten 
the  Gaelic,  I  have  lived  so  long  in  the  land  of  the  Sassenachs 
— not  but  what  the  Gaelic  is  milk  and  honey  in  the  tongue  that 
speaks  it." 

When  that  little  mocking  laugh  reached  their  ears,  both 
the  old  men  reddened,  like  children  discovered  in  a  fault. 
Then  they  drew  themselves  up  and  saluted  gravely ;  but  the 
girl's  eyes  were  full  of  mirth  and  mischief. 

"Aren't  you  ashamed  of  yourselves,  you  two,  quarrelling 
over  a  silly  old  battle,  that  every  one  else  has  now  forgotten  ? 
One  would  think  you  were  heathens,  and  not  Christians  at  all, 
to  hear  you  talk  in  that  sanguinary  style."  The  girl's  voice 
was  deep,  but  very  clear  and  full,  and  there  was  a  curious  tim- 
bre in  it  that  somehow  lingered  in  one's  memory — it  was  so 
suggestive  of  sweetness  and  pathos. 

"Are  you  fery  well,  Miss  Ward?  Ah,  it  is  always  a  good 
thing  when  one  has  the  joke  ready," — and  Sergeant  McGill's 
tone  was  full  of  dignity, — "but  it  is  not  quarrelling  that  we 
are  after,  Miss  Ward — only  a  little  difference  of  opinion." 

"Yes,  I  know.  But  what  does  it  matter,  McGill,  how 
many  of  those  poor  wretches  you  killed?"  But  she  might  as 
well  have  spoken  to  the  wind. 

"It  was  three,  Miss  Ward,"  returned  McGill,  obstinately; 
"and  if  you  had  seen  the  sight  that  Jack  and  I  saw  you 


In  the  Lime  Avenue 

would  not  be  calling  them  poor,  for  they  were  the  devil's  sons, 
every  one  of  them,  and  their  hearts  was  black  as  sin,  and  it 
was  the  third  man  that  I  got  by  the  throat ;  and  when  Jack 

came  up ' '    But  here  the  girl  shrugged  her  shoulders,  and 

a  little  frown  came  to  her  face. 

"  Yes,  I  know,  but  please  spare  me  those  horrible  details," 
and  then  she  laughed  again ;  but  there  were  tears  in  her  eyes. 
"I  daresay  there  were  more  than  three  if  the  truth  were 
known.  Corporal,  why  do  you  vex  him  with  contradiction  ? 
If  you  were  in  another  part  of  the  field  how  could  you  know 
what  he  did?" 

"  Ah,  it  is  the  goot  English  that  Miss  Ward  speaks,"  mur- 
mured McGill ;  but  Corporal  Marks  struck  in. 

"Hold  your  tongue,  McGill — you  are  like  a  woman  for 
argifying— argle-barking,  as  Sergeant  Drummond  calls  it — 
from  noon  to  night.  This  was  how  it  was,  Miss  Ward.  Our 
company  was  scattered,  and  I  found  myself  suddenly  in  the 
corner  of  the  rice-field  where  McGill  was.  There  was  a  bar- 
ricade of  dead  Sepoys  round  him,  and  he  had  his  foot  on  one 

of  them,  and  had  got  another  by  the  throat ;  and  then ' ' 

But  a  peremptory  gesture  stopped  him.  "  Thank  you,  I  have 
heard  enough  ;  but  I  am  inclined  to  take  McGill's  part,  for  how 
could  you  see  clearly  in  all  that  smoke  and  crowd  ?  Come, 
let  us  change  the  subject.  I  owe  you  sixpence  for  those  flow- 
ers that  you  brought  yesterday,  for  my  sister  tells  me  that  she 
never  paid  for  them." 

"  No,  Miss  Ward,  and  there  was  no  sixpence  owing  at  all. 
I  left  the  flowers  with  my  duty." 

"Ah,  but  that  is  nonsense,  Corporal,"  returned  the  young 
lady  quickly.  "  I  will  not  rob  you  of  all  your  lovely  flow- 
ers." 

"It's  not  robbing,  Miss  Ward,"  replied  McGill,  in  his 
soft  thick  voice.  "It  is  a  pride  and  pleasure  to  Jack  that 
you  take  the  flowers,  for  it  is  the  goot  friend  you  have  been 
to  us,  and  the  books  you  have  read,  and  the  grand  things  you 
have  told  us,  and  what  are  roses  and  dahlias  compared  to 
that?" 

"Well,  well,  you  are  a  couple  of  dear  old  obstinate  mules, 
but  I  love  you  for  it;  but  please  do  not  argue  any  more. 
Good-bye,  Sergeant.  Good-bye,  Corporal,"  and  the  girl 
waved  her  hand,  and  again  the  old  men  saluted. 

"They  are  two  of  the  most  pugnacious,  squabbling  old 
dears  in  the  whole   hospital,"   she  thought,  as   she  walked 

13 


Mollie's  Prince 

quickly  on.  "I  wonder  which  of  them  is  right?  Neither 
of  them  will  yield  the  point."  And  then  she  smiled  and 
nodded  to  a  little  group  that  she  passed  ;  and,  indeed,  from 
that  point  to  Cleveland  Terrace  it  was  almost  like  a  Royal 
progress,  so  many  were  the  greetings  she  received,  and  it  was 
good  to  see  how  the  old  faces  brightened  at  the  mere  sight  of 
the  girl. 

Presently  she  stopped  before  one  of  the  tall  old  houses 
in  Cleveland  Terrace,  and  glanced  up  eagerly  at  the  vine- 
draped,  balconied  windows,  as  though  she  were  looking  for 
some  one ;  but  no  face  was  outlined  against  the  dingy  panes. 
Then  she  let  herself  into  the  dim  little  hall,  with  its  worn 
linoleum,  from  which  all  pattern  had  faded  long  ago,  and  its 
dilapidated  mahogany  hat-stand  with  two  pegs  missing,  and 
an  odd  assortment  of  male  and  female  head-gear  on  the  re- 
maining ones,  and  then  she  called  out,  "Mollie!  Mollie!" 
finishing  off  with  a  shrill,  sweet  whistle,  that  made  an  unseen 
canary  tune  up  lustily. 

And  the  next  moment  another  whistle,  quite  as  clear  and 
sweet  answered  her,  and  a  deliciously  fresh  voice  said,  "  I  am 
in  the  studio,  darling."  And  the  girl,  with  a  wonderful 
brightness  on  her  face,  ran  lightly  up  the  stairs. 

"Oh!  what  an  age  you  have  been,  Waveney  !  You  poor 
dear,  how  tired  and  hungry  you  must  be?"  and  here  another 
girl,  painting  at  a  small  table  by  the  back  window,  turned 
round  and  held  out  her  arms. 

When  people  first  saw  Mollie  Ward  they  always  said  she  was 
the  most  beautiful  creature  that  they  had  ever  seen  ;  and  then 
they  would  regard  Waveney  with  a  pitying  look,  and  whisper 
to  each  other  how  strange  it  was  that  one  twin  should  be 
so  handsome  and  the  other  so  pale  and  insignificant. 

But  they  were  right  about  Mollie's  beauty;  her  complexion 
was  lovely,  and  she  had  Irish  grey  eyes  with  dark  curled 
lashes,  and  brown  hair  with  just  a  dash  of  gold  in  it ;  and 
her  mouth  was  perfect,  and  so  was  her  chin  and  the  curves  of 
her  neck  ;  but  perhaps  her  chief  attraction  was  the  air  of  bon- 
homie and  unconsciousness  and  a  general  winsomeness  that 
cannot  be  described. 

"Where  is  father,  Mollie?"  asked  Waveney  ;  but  her  eyes 
looked  round  the  room  a  little  anxiously.  "Ah,  I  see  the 
picture  has  gone ;"  and  then  a  look  of  sorrowful  understand- 
ing passed  between  the  sisters. 

"Yes,  he  has  taken  it,"  almost  whispered  Mollie,  "but  he 

14 


In  the  Lime  Avenue 

will  not  be  back  yet.  Ann  is  out — she  has  gone  to  see  her 
mother;  so  I  must  go  and  get  your  tea.  Noel  is  downstairs  ;" 
and,  indeed,  at  that  moment  a  cracked,  boyish  voice  could  be 
heard  singing  the  latest  street  melody,  and  murdering  it  in 
fine  style. 

Mollie  rose  from  her  chair  rather  slowly  as  she  spoke,  and 
then — ah,  the  pity  of  it ! — one  saw  she  was  lame — not  actually 
lame  so  as  to  require  crutches ;  but  as  she  walked  she  dragged 
one  leg,  and  the  awkward,  ungraceful  gait  gave  people  a  sort 
of  shock. 

Mollie  never  grew  used  to  her  painful  infirmity,  though  she 
had  had  it  from  a  child ;  it  was  the  result  of  accident  and 
bad  treatment;  a  sinew  had  contracted  and  made  one  leg 
shorter  than  the  other,  so  that  she  lurched  ungracefully  as  she 
walked 

Once  in  the  night  Waveney  had  awakened  with  her  sob- 
bing, and  had  taken  her  in  her  warm  young  arms  to  comfort 
her. 

"What  is  it,  Mollie  darling?"  she  had  asked,  trembling 
from  head  to  foot  with  sympathy  and  pity. 

"It  means  that  I  am  a  goose,"  Mollie  had  answered. 
"But  I  could  not  help  it,  Waveney.  I  was  dreaming  that  I 
was  at  a  ball,  and  some  one,  quite  a  grand-looking  man,  in 
uniform,  had  asked  me  to  dance,  and  the  band  was  playing 
that  lovely  new  waltz  that  Noel  is  always  whistling,  and  we 
were  whirling  round  and  round — ah,  it  was  delicious  !  And 
then  something  woke  me  and  I  remembered  that  I  should 
never,  never  dance  as  long  as  I  live,  or  run,  or  play  tennis,  or 
do  any  of  the  dear,  delightful  things  that  other  girls  do;" 
and  here  poor  Mollie  wept  afresh,  and  Waveney  cried  too,  out 
of  passionate  love  and  pity. 

Mollie  did  not  often  have  these  weak  moments,  for  she  was 
a  bright  creature,  and  disposed  to  make  the  best  of  things. 
Every  one  had  something  to  bear,  she  would  say  with  easy 
philosophy — it  was  her  cross,  the  crook  in  her  lot,  the  thorn 
in  her  side ;  one  must  not  expect  only  roses  and  sunshine,  she 
would  add ;  but,  indeed,  very  few  roses  had  as  yet  strewn  the 
twins'  path. 

When  Mollie  had  lumbered  out  of  the  room,  Waveney  folded 
her  arms  behind  her  and  paced  slowly  up  and  down,  as  though 
she  were  thinking  out  some  problem  that  refused  to  be  solved. 
It/was  really  two  rooms,  divided  at  one  time  by  folding-doors ; 
but  these  had  been  taken  away  long  ago. 

i5 


Mollie's  Prince 

It  was  a  nondescript  sort  of  apartment,  half  studio  and  half 
sitting-room,  and  bore  traces  of  family  occupation.  An  empty 
easel  and  several  portfolios  occupied  one  front  window;  in 
the  other,  near  the  fireplace,  was  a  round  table,  strewn  with 
study  books  and  work-baskets.  Mollie's  painting  table  was 
in  the  inner  room. 

A  big,  comfortable-looking  couch  and  two  easy  chairs  gave 
an  air  of  cosiness  and  comfort,  but  the  furniture  was  woefully 
shabby,  and  the  only  attempt  at  decoration  was  a  picturesque- 
looking  red  jar,  in  which  Corporal  Marks'  flowers  were  ar- 
ranged. Presently  Waveney  stopped  opposite  the  empty 
easel,  and  regarded  it  ruefully. 

"  It  will  only  be  another  disappointment,"  she  said  to  her- 
self, with  a  sigh.  "  Poor  father,  poor  dear  father  !  And  he 
works  so  hard,  too !  Something  must  be  done.  We  are 
getting  poorer  and  poorer,  and  Noel  has  such  an  appetite. 
What  is  the  use  of  living  in  our  own  house,  and  pretending 
that  we  are  well  off  and  respectable  and  all  that,  and  we  are 
in  debt  to  the  butcher  and  the  coal-merchant  \  and  it  is  not 
father's  fault,  for  he  does  all  he  can,  and  it  is  only  because  he 
loves  us  so  that  he  hates  us  to  work."  And  then  she  sat  down 
on  the  couch  as  though  she  were  suddenly  tired,  and  stared 
dumbly  at  the  vine-leaves  twinkling  in  the  sunshine ;  and  her 
lips  were  closed  firmly  on  each  other,  as  though  she  had  ar- 
rived at  some  sudden  resolution. 


CHAPTER  II. 

MONSIEUR   BLACKIE.' 


a  It  would  be  argument  for  a  week,  laughter  for  a  month,  and  a  good 
jest  forever." 

"  A  Corinthian,  a  lad  of  metal,  a  good  boy." — King  Henry  IV. 

A  shrill,  ear-piercing  series  of  whistles,  of  a  peculiarly 
excruciating  description,  broke  in  upon  Waveney's  meditation. 
She  shook  herself,  frowned,  ran  her  fingers  through  her  short, 
curly  hair,  thereby  causing  it  to  wave  more  wildly  than  ever — 
then  ran  downstairs. 

The  ground  floor  room  corresponded  with  the  one  above 

16 


"  Monsieur  Blackie." 

— only  the  folding  doors  had  not  been  removed,  and  over 
them,  in  a  schoolboy's  round  hand,  roughly  painted  in  red 
and  gold,  was  "  Noel  Ward,  His  Study,"  with  a  pleasing  and 
serpentine  ornamentation  embellishing  the  inscription.  In 
vain  had  Mollie,  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  implored  her  father 
to  obliterate  the  unsightly  record.  An  amused  shake  of  the 
head  only  answered  her. 

"  Leave  it  alone,"  he  would  say.  "It  is  only  a  nursery 
legend,  and  does  no  harm — when  Noel  evolves  another  orig- 
inal idea  it  will  be  time  to  erase  it."  And  so  "  Noel  Ward, 
His  Study,"  still  sprawled  in  ungainly  characters  over  the 
lintel. 

As  Waveney  entered  the  room  with  rather  an  offended  air, 
she  saw  the  youthful  student  standing  in  the  doorway.  He 
was  a  tall,  thin  stripling  of  fifteen — but  looked  older,  per- 
haps because  he  wore  spectacles  and  had  classical,  well-cut 
features,  and  an  odd  trick  of  projecting  his  chin  and  lifting 
his  head  as  though  he  were  always  on  the  look-out  for  celestial 
objects.  But  notwithstanding  this  eccentricity  and  a  cracked 
and  somewhat  high-pitched  voice,  the  heir  of  the  Wards  was 
certainly  a  goodly  youth. 

"  Well,  old  Storm  and  Stress,"  he  observed,  with  a  derisive 
grin,  as  he  balanced  himself  skilfully  on  his  heels  between  the 
folding-doors,  "so  the  pibroch  roused  you?" 

"Pibroch  !"  returned  his  sister,  wrathfully.  "How  often 
have  I  told  you,  you  bad  boy,  that  you  are  not  to  make  this 
horrible  din.  Caterwauling  is  music  compared  to  it,  or  even 
a  bagpipe  out  of  tune." 

"  It  was  my  best  and  latest  work,"  returned  Noel,  regard- 
ing the  ceiling  disconsolately.  "  A  farmyard  symphony  with 
roulades  and  variations  of  the  most  realistic  and  spirited  de- 
scription, and  would  bring  the  house  down  at  a  Penny  Read- 
ing. At  present  we  had  only  reached  the  braying  solo — but 
the  chorus  of  turkeycocks,  with  peacock  movement,  would 
have  created  a  sensation." 

"They  have,"  returned  Mollie,  stealing  softly  behind  him 
and  treating  him  to  a  smart  box  on  the  ears  ;  but  Noel  merely 
pinned  her  hands  in  a  firm  grasp  and  went  on  with  his  sub- 
ject :  little  interruptions  of  this  sort  did  not  disturb  him  in 
the  least ;  he  rather  liked  them  than  otherwise.  Nothing 
pleased  him  better  than  to  get  a  rise  out  of  his  sisters,  for, 
whatever  virtues  he  possessed,  he  certainly  lacked  the  bump 
of  veneration. 

a  17 


Mollie's  Prince 

Dear,  sweet  Mollie,  with  her  angelic  face,  was  often  ad- 
dressed as  "old  Stick-in-the-mud,"  "  Pegtop,"  or  "the 
wobbly  one,"  while  Waveney,  his  special  chum,  the  creature 
whom  he  loved  best  in  the  world  next  to  his  father,  was 
"  Storm  and  Stress,"  a  singular  soubriquet,  evolved  from  her 
name  and  her  sudden  and  sprightly  movements. 

"  For  one  is  nearly  blown  away,"  he  would  say.  "There 
is  always  a  breeze  through  the  house  when  that  girl  is  in  it ;  it 
is  like  playing  a  scale  upside  down  and  wrong  side  outwards 
to  hear  her  coming  downstairs;"  and  very  often  he  would 
come  to  his  meals  with  his  collar  up,  and  flourishing  a  red 
silk  handkerchief  ostentatiously,  and  speak  in  a  croaking, 
nasal  voice,  until  his  father  asked  him  mildly  where  he  had 
caught  such  a  cold ;  and  then  Waveney  would  nudge  him 
furiously  under  the  table. 

On  the  present  occasion  poor  Mollie  was  kept  in  durance 
vile  until  Noel  had  finished  his  disquisition  on  his  novel 
symphony ;  then  he  released  her,  and  contemplated  the  tea- 
table  with  a  fixed  and  glassy  stare,  which  conveyed  mute  re- 
proach. 

"  Noel,  dear,  it  is  a  fresh  loaf,"  she  said,  hastily  and  appre- 
hensively, "  and  it  is  beautifully  crusty,  and  the  butter  is  good 
— a  penny  a  pound  dearer,  and  at  the  best  shop." 

"  Where  are  the  shrimps?"  asked  Noel,  and  he  so  length- 
ened the  word  that  it  sounded  almost  as  terribly  in  Mollie's 
ears  as  Mrs.  Siddons'  "  Give  me  the  dagger!"  for  so  much 
depends  on  expression,  and  if  one  is  only  melo-dramatic,  even 
the  words  "  shrimps"  can  be  as  sibilant  and  aggressive  as  the 
hissing  of  snakes. 

"  Oh,  dear,  how  tiresome  you  are,  Noel !"  returned  Mollie, 
quite  sharply  for  her,  for  she  was  housekeeper,  and  the  strain 
and  responsibility  were  overwhelming  at  times,  especially 
when  her  poor  little  purse  was  empty.  "I  could  not  afford 
them,  really,  Noel,"  she  continued,  welling  into  tenderness 
at  the  thought  of  his  disappointment.  "There  were  some 
nice  brown  ones,  but  I  dared  not  get  them,  for  I  had  only  two- 
pence left,  so  I  bought  watercresses  instead." 

"Ask  a  blessing,  my  child,  and  I  will  forgive  you;"  and 
then,  much  to  his  sister's  relief,  Noel  subsided,  and  began  cut- 
ting the  bread,  while  under  cover  of  the  table-cloth,  Waveney 
slipped  sixpence  into  Mollie's  hand,  and  made  a  movement 
with  her  lips  suggestive  of  "  to-morrow  ;"  and  Mollie  nodded 
as  she  poured  out  the  tea. 

18 


"Monsieur  Blackie." 

Noel  had  a  volume  of  "  Eugene  Aram"  propped  up  before 
him  as  he  ate,  but  it  did  not  engross  him  so  utterly  that  he 
could  not  interpolate  the  conversation  whenever  he  pleased, 
and  it  pleased  him  to  do  so  very  often. 

Mollie  was  giving  a  graphic  and  heart-breaking  account  of 
the  way  in  which  she  and  her  father  had  packed  the  precious 
picture,  "  and  how  it  had  been  bumped  three  times  while  they 
carried  it  down  the  narrow  stairs."  "  I  quite  missed  the  dear 
old  thing,  Wave,"  she  went  on,  "and  the  studio  looked  so 
dull  without  it.  Noel  was  so  absurd  ;  he  threw  an  old  shoe 
after  it  for  good  luck,  and  it  nearly  knocked  father's  hat  off — 
and  then  he  bolted  indoors,  and  there  was  father  looking  at 
me  so  astonished,  and  he  was  not  quite  pleased,  I  could  see 
that,  so  I  said,  '  It  is  not  me  dad,  it  is  the  other  boy.'  " 

"  Yes,  and  it  was  real  mean  of  you,"  grumbled  Noel ;  "  but 
there,  what  are  you  to  expect  from  a  woman?  Poor  old 
padre,  he  will  be  precious  tired  with  hauling  along  '  King 
Canute,'  and  it  will  bump  all  the  worse  going  up-stairs." 

"Oh,  Noel!"  exclaimed  both  the  girls,  in  a  shrill  cres- 
cendo of  dismay.  "You  don't  really  believe  that  the  dealers 
will  refuse  '  King  Canute'  ?"  ejaculated  Mollie.  "  Father  has 
worked  so  hard  at  it,  and  it  is  really  his  best  picture." 

Noel  shrugged  his  shoulders  ;  then  he  pointed  his  chin  in 
an  argumentative  way. 

"  The  dealers  buy  awful  rubbish  sometimes,  but  they  won't 
buy  this.  Every  kid  knows  how  the  old  buffer  gave  his  cour- 
tiers a  lesson,  but  no  one  wants  to  be  always  looking  on  while 
he  does  it ;  the  public  hates  that  sort  of  thing,  you  know.  I 
told  father  so,  over  and  over  again,  but  he  would  not  listen. 
'Why  don't  you  try  something  lively  and  less  historical?'  I 
said  to  him.  '"The  Two  Grave-diggers"  in  Hamlet,  or 
"  Touchstone  and  Audrey."  We  might  get  Corporal  Marks 
to  sit  for  "  Touchstone" — the  public  would  think  that  fetch- 
ing.' But  no,  nothing  but  that  solemn  old  Dane  would  suit 
him — the  Wards  are  terribly  obstinate.  I  am  my  father's 
son,  and  speak  feelingly;"  and  then  Noel  shouldered  his 
book  and  marched  back  to  the  study. 

"  Do  you  think  Noel  is  right  ?"  whispered  Mollie.  "  He  is 
very  clever,  for  all  his  ridiculous  nonsense,  and  I  am  not  quite 
sure  whether  '  King  Canute'  will  really  interest  people." 

"Oh,  don't  ask  me,"  returned  Waveney,  in  an  exasperated 
tone.  "If  only  dear  father  would  stick  to  his  schools,  and 
his  drawing-classes,  and  not  try  to  paint  these  pictures  !    They 

19 


Mollies  Prince 

seem  grand  to  us,  but  they  are  not  really  well  done.  Don't 
you  remember  Mr.  Fullarton  said  so  ?  We  were  in  the  back 
room,  but  we  heard  him  plainly.  'You  are  too  ambitious, 
Ward' — that  was  what  he  said ;  '  the  public  is  tired  of  these 
old  hackneyed  subjects.  Why  don't  you  hit  on  something 
pathetic  and  suggestive — some  fetching  little  incident  that 
tells  its  own  story?'  «"  Child  and  St.  Bernard  Dog,"  for 
example,'  returned  father,  grimly,  'and  write  under  it,  "Nel- 
lie's Guardian."  Would  that  do,  Fullarton?  But  I  suppose 
anything  would  do  for  pot-boilers.'  " 

"Oh,  yes,  I  recollect,"  returned  Mollie,  with  a  long-drawn 
sigh.     "  Poor  old  dad  !    How  low  he  seemed  that  day  !    And 

this  evening,  if "     But  Waveney  would  not  let  her  finish 

the  sentence. 

"Never  mind  that  just  now.  It  is  no  use  crossing  the 
bridge  till  you  come  to  it ;  let  us  go  upstairs  and  be  cosy,  for 
I  have  a  lot  I  want  to  say  to  you  ;"  and  then  they  went  up 
arm-in-arm — Mollie  was  almost  a  head  taller  than  her  sister 
— and  sat  down  side  by  side  on  the  big  couch;  and  then 
Waveney  began  to  laugh. 

"Oh,  Mollie,  I  have  had  such  an  adventure;  I  did  not 
want  Noel  to  hear  it,  because  he  would  have  teased  me  so  un- 
mercifully. Don't  you  recollect  that  horrid  note-book  that 
we  found?"  And  then,  at  the  recollection,  Mollie  began  to 
giggle,  and  finally  both  she  and  Waveney  became  so  hysteri- 
cal with  suppressed  mirth  that  they  had  almost  to  stifle  them- 
selves in  the  cushions  for  fear  Noel  should  hear  them. 

For  it  was  only  lately  that  they  had  become  acquainted 
with  the  dark  and  Machiavellian  policy  of  that  artful  youth. 
Evening  after  evening,  as  they  had  exchanged  their  girlish  con- 
fidences, Noel  had  sat  by  them  with  a  stolid  and  abstracted 
look,  apparently  drawing  pen-and-ink  devils — a  favourite 
amusement  of  his  ;  but  it  was  Mollie  who  found  him  out. 

"The  Adventures  of  Waveney  Edna  Ward,  alias  Storm 
and  Stress,"  was  scrawled  on  the  title-page,  and  thereupon 
followed  a  series  of  biographical  sketches,  profusely  illus- 
trated. 

"Storm  and  Stress  with  the  Bull  of  Bashan" — a  singularly 
graphic  description  of  Waveney' s  terror  at  meeting  an  angry 
cow  in  the  lane. 

«No.  II. — Storm  and  Stress.  Saving  an  Orphan's  Life — 
the  Orphan  being  a  deserted,  half-starved  kitten,  now  an 
elderly  cat  rejoicing  in  the  name  of  Mrs.  Muggins;"  and  so 

20 


"Monsieur  Blackie" 

on.     Every  little  incident  touched  up  or  finely  caricatured  in 
a  masterly  manner. 

Pere  Ward  had  been  so  charmed  with  this  manifestation  of 
his  son's  talent  that  he  had  carried  off  the  note-book  and 
locked  it  up  amongst  his  treasures.  "  That  boy  will  make  his 
mark,"  he  would  say,  proudly.  "But  we  must  give  him 
plenty  of  scope. ' '  And,  indeed,  it  could  not  be  denied  that 
Noel  had  a  fairly  long  tether. 

As  soon  as  Waveney  could  recover  herself,  she  sat  up  and 
rebuked  Mollie  severely  for  her  levity ;  "for  how  is  a  person  to 
talk  while  you  are  cackling  in  that  ridiculous  manner?  And 
it  is  really  quite  an  interesting  adventure,  and" — with  an  im- 
portant air — "it  is  to  be  continued  in  our  next."  And  this 
sounded  so  mysterious  that  Mollie  wiped  her  eyes  and  con- 
sented to  be  serious. 

"Well,  you  know,"  began  Waveney,  in  a  delightfully 
colloquial  manner,  "father  had  told  me  to  take  the  omnibus 
that  would  put  me  down  at  King's  Street.  All  the  outside 
places  were  taken,  but  there  was  only  the  usual  fat  woman 
with  bundle  and  baby  inside ;  and  presently  a  gentleman  got 
in.  You  know  I  always  make  a  point  of  noticing  my  fellow 
passengers,  as  dad  says  it  helps  to  form  a  habit  of  observation ; 
so  I  at  once  took  stock  of  our  solitary  gentleman. 

"  He  was  a  little  dark  man,  very  swarthy  and  foreign 
looking,  and  he  wore  an  oddly-shaped  peaked  sort  of  hat — 
rather  like  Guy  Fawkes'  without  the  feather — and  he  had  a 
black  moustache  that  was  very  stiff  and  fierce,  so  of  corpse  I 
made  up  my  mind  that  he  was  a  Frenchman,  and  probably  an 
artist;  for,  though  his  clothes  were  good,  he  had  rather  a 
Bohemian  look. ' '  Here  Waveney  paused,  but  Mollie  gave  her 
a  nudge. 

"  Go  on,  Wave.  I  am  beginning  to  feel  interested.  Was 
he  really  French?" 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it,  my  dear,  for  he  talked  the  most  beautiful 
English ;  and  directly  he  opened  his  mouth  I  found  out  he 
was  a  gentleman,  for  his  voice  was  perfectly  cultured  and  so 
pleasant.  I  rather  took  to  him  because  he  was  so  kind  to  the 
fat  woman ;  he  held  her  bundle  while  she  and  her  baby  got 
out,  and  he  scolded  the  conductor  for  hurrying  her.  I  thought 
that  rather  nice  of  him  ;  so  few  young  men  trouble  themselves 
about  fat  women  and  babies." 

"  Oh  !  he  was  young?"  in  an  appreciative  tone. 

"Well,  youngish;  two  or  three  and  thirty,  perhaps.     But 


Mollie's  Prince 

now  I  am  coming  to  the  critical  point  of  my  story.  Directly 
we  were  left  alone  the  conductor  came  to  ask  for  our  fares ; 
he  was  a  surly-looking  man,  with  a  red  face,  and  his  manner 
was  not  over  civil ;  most  likely  he  resented  the  scolding  about 
the  fat  woman. 

"  Well,  no  sooner  had  Monsieur  put  his  hand  in  his  pocket 
than  he  drew  it  out  again  with  a  puzzled  look. 

"  '  Some  one  has  picked  my  pocket,'  he  said,  out  loud,  but 
he  did  not  look  so  very  much  disturbed.  '  My  sovereign  purse 
has  gone,  and  some  loose  silver  as  well. '  And  then  he  searched 
his  other  pockets,  and  only  produced  a  card-case  and  some 
papers  ;  and  then  he  began  to  laugh  in  rather  an  embarrassed 
way.  '  My  good  fellow,  you  see  how  it  is ;  the  beggars  have 
cleaned  me  out.  Five  or  six  pounds  gone.  Confound  those 
light-fingered  gentry !  If  I  had  not  left  my  watch  at  the 
maker's  it  would  have  gone,  too.' 

"  '  That  is  all  very  well,'  returned  the  conductor,  in  a  disa- 
greeable voice,  '  but  what  I  wants  to  know,  sir,  is  how  am  I 
to  get  my  fare  ?' 

"  '  Oh,  you  will  get  it  right  enough/'  replied  Monsieur  (but 
he  was  not  Monsieur  at  all,  only  the  name  suited  him)  ;  '  but 
for  the  present  I  can  only  offer  you  my  card;'  and  then  he 
held  it  out  with  such  a  pleasant  smile  that  it  might  have 
softened  half-a-dozen  conductors.  But  old  Surly  Face  was 
not  so  easily  mollified. 

"  'I  don't  want  your  bit  of  pasteboard,"  he  growled.  '  Do 
you  call  yourself  a  gentleman  to  ride  in  a  public  conveyance 
without  paying  your  fare?' 

"Then  the  motto  of  the  Wards  flashed  into  my  mind, 
'Open  hand,  good  luck,'  and  the  next  minute  I  produced 
a  sixpence  from  my  purse — there  were  just  two  sixpences 
in  it. 

"'Will  you  allow  me  to  offer  you  this?'  I  said,  in  my 
grandest  manner;  but  I  felt  a  little  taken  aback  when  he 
lifted  his  hat  and  beamed  at  me.  I  say  beamed,  for  it  was 
really  the  most  friendly,  jovial  smile ;  his  whole  face  quite 
crinkled  up  with  it. 

"'I  could  not  refuse  such  a  good  Samaritan.  A  thousand 
thanks  for  your  kind  loan.  There,  sir,'  handing  over  the 
sixpence,  sternly,  '  give  me  the  change  and  next  time  keep  a 
civil  tongue  in  your  head.'  And  then,  greatly  to  my  sur- 
prise, he  pocketed  the  threepence. 

"  'I  am  in  your  debt  for  a  whole  sixpence,'  he  continued, 

22 


"Monsieur  Blackie" 

*  and  I  am  as  grateful  to  you  as  though  you  had  returned  my 
missing  sovereigns.  Is  it  not  Kingsley  who  points  out  the 
beauty  and  grace  of  helping  "lame  dogs  over  stiles?"  Now 
will  you  add  to  your  kindness  by  informing  me  of  your  name 
and  address?' 

"I  stared  at  him  blankly,  and  I  am  afraid  I  blushed. 

"  '  There  is  no  occasion,'  I  said,  feebly,  at  last.  '  Sixpence 
is  not  a  great  sum,  and  I  was  very  glad  to  be  of  service ; '  for 
I  could  not  help  feeling  how  absurd  it  was,  making  so  much 
of  a  trifle.     But  Monsieur  seemed  indignant  at  this. 

"  '  I  could  not  be  in  debt  to  any  young  lady  even  for  six- 
pence, '  he  said,  severely.  i  I  was  too  well  brought  up  for  that. ' 
And  then  of  course  I  was  obliged  to  tell  him  where  I  lived ; 
and  he  actually  made  me  repeat  it  twice,  he  was  so  anxious  to 
remember  it. 

"  '  Miss  Ward,  10  Cleveland  Terrace,  Chelsea,'  he  observed. 
'  Why,  that  is  just  opposite  the  Hospital.  I  know  it  well. 
Strange  to  say,  I  am  staying  in  Chelsea  myself.'  Then  he 
took  out  his  card-case,  hesitated,  and  grew  rather  red,  and 
finally  put  it  back  in  his  pocket.  '  My  name  is  Ingram,'  he 
said,  rather  abruptly;  and  then  the  omnibus  stopped,  and  he 
handed  me  out. 

"  '  I  must  be  in  your  debt  until  to-morrow,  I  fear,'  were  his 
parting  words — and  oh,  Mollie,  do  you  really  think  that  he 
will  actually  call  and  pay  the  sixpence  ?' ' 

"Of  course  he  will,  and  of  course  he  ought,"  returned 
Mollie,  excitedly.  "  Oh,  Wave,  what  an  adventure  !  It  was 
just  like  a  bit  in  a  novel  when  the  hero  meets  the  heroine — 
only  an  omnibus  is  the  last  place  for  a  romance."  Then 
Waveney  made  a  face. 

"  No,  no,  Mollie,  little  dark  Frenchified  men  are  not  my 
taste,  even  if  they  have  nice  voices.  My  private  hero  must 
be  very  different  from  Monsieur  Blackie."  Then  a  crackling 
laugh  from  behind  the  sofa  made  both  the  girls  jump  up  in 
affright,  and  the  next  moment  Waveney  looked  not  unlike  her 
soubriquet,  as,  uttering  dire  threats  of  vengeance,  she  flew 
round  and  round  the  room  after  the  treacherous  eavesdropper, 
until  Noel,  exhausted  by  laughter,  subsided  into  a  corner  and 
submitted  to  be  shaken. 

"  'Monsieur  Blackie,  to  be  continued  in  our  next,'  "  ex- 
claimed the  incorrigible  lad,  when  Waveney  grew  weary  with 
her  punitive  exertions.  "  My  word,  there  must  be  a  new 
note-book  for  this.     '  Storm  and  Stress  enacting  the  part  of 

23 


Mollie's  Prince 

Good  Samaritan';"  and  here  Noel  fairly  crowed  himself  out 
of  the  room. 

"  He  has  heard  every  word,"  observed  Waveney,  in  a  de- 
jected tone.  "  I  am  afraid  we  laughed  too  loud,  and  that 
roused  his  curiosity.  Oh,  dear,  what  a  boy  he  is  !  And  none 
of  us  keep  him  in  order;"  but  Mollie  was  too  exhausted  to 
answer  her. 


CHAPTER  III. 
"king  Canute"  comes  back. 

"Care  to  our  coffin  adds  a  nail  no  doubt. 
And  every  grin,  so  merry,  draws  one  out." 

John  Walcot. 

"  And  Nature  swears,  the  lovely  dears 
Her  noblest  work  she  classes,  O ; 
Her  'prentice  han'  she  tried  on  man, 
And  then  she  made  the  lasses,  O." 

Burns. 

As  the  soft  September  twilight  stole  over  the  room,  the 
girls  became  more  silent.  Waveney  seemed  buried  in  thought, 
and  Mollie,  tired  out  with  laughing,  nestled  against  her  com- 
fortably, and  very  nearly  went  to  sleep.  But  she  was  roused 
effectually  by  Waveney' s  next  speech. 

"  Sweetheart" — her  pet  name  for  Mollie — "  I  am  going  to 
make  you  miserable,  I  am  afraid,  but  I  have  been  telling 
myself  'all  day  long  that  we  must  face  the  situation.  If 
father  does  not  get  a  good  price  for  his  picture,  what  are  we 
to  do?" 

"But  he  must  sell  it,"  returned  Mollie,  in  a  distressed 
voice.  "Barker  is  getting  disagreeable  about  his  bill,  and 
his  man  says  nasty  things  to  Ann  when  he  leaves  the  meat. 
And  we  owe  Chandler  for  two  tons  of  coal." 

"Yes,  I  know;"  and  Waveney  sighed  heavily.  "Those 
two  tons  have  been  on  my  mind  all  day." 

"You  poor  dear,  no  wonder  you  looked  tired.  Ah,  how 
hateful  and  mean  it  is  to  be  poor  !  Ah,  you  are  not  as  wicked 
and  rebellious  as  I  am,  Wave.  I  sometimes  cry  with  the  long- 
ing for  the  pretty  things  other  girls  have.     I  cannot  resign 

24 


"King  Canute"  Comes  Back 

myself  to  the  idea  of  being  shabby  and  pinched  and  careworn 
all  my  life  long.  If  this  goes  on  we  shall  be  old  women  be- 
fore our  time;  when  I  am  ordering  dinner  I  feel  nearly  a 
hundred." 

Waveney  stroked  the  glossy  brown  head  that  rested  against 
her  shoulder,  but  made  no  other  answer:  she  was  thinking 
how  she  could  best  break  some  unwelcome  news  to  Mollie. 
Mollie  was  emotional,  and  cried  easily,  and  her  father  always 
hated  to  see  one  of  his  girls  unhappy.  "  Father  would  cut 
the  moon  up  into  little  pieces  and  give  them  to  us,  if  he 
could,"  she  thought;  "nothing  is  too  good  for  us.  But 
when  Mollie  frets  he  takes  it  so  to  heart.  Oh  dear,  if  only 
doing  one's  duty  were  made  easier ;  but  there  is  no  '  learning 
or  reading  without  tears'  in  the  Handbook  of  Life;"  and  then 
she  set  her  little  white  teeth  together  firmly,  as  a  child  does 
when  some  nauseous  medicine  is  offered. 

"  Mollie,  dear,  I  cannot  keep  it  back  any  longer — it  makes 
me  miserable  to  have  a  secret  from  you.  I  have  been  to  Har- 
ley  Street  to-day,  and  talked  to  Miss  Warburton,  and  she  has 
something  on  her  books  that  is  likely  to  suit  me." 

Then  the  sob  she  dreaded  to  hear  rose  to  poor  Mollie' s  lips. 

"  Ah,  Wave,  you  can't  really  mean  it !  This  is  worst  of  all. 
It  is  positively  dreadful.  How  am  I  to  live  without  you  ? 
And  father,  and  Noel,  what  are  they  to  do?"  and  here  the 
tears  rolled  down  her  face  ;  but  Waveney,  who  had  been 
schooling  herself  all  day,  refused  to  be  moved  from  her  stoi- 
cism. 

"  Mollie,  please  listen  to  me.  It  is  childish  to  cry.  Do 
you  remember  our  last  talk — the  one  we  had  in  the  Lime 
Walk,  and  how  we  agreed  that  we  must  do  all  we  could  to 
help  father!" 

"But  I  do  help  him,"  returned  Mollie,  in  a  woe-begone 
voice.  "  I  keep  the  house  and  mend  things,  and  look  after 
that  stupid,  clumsy  Ann ;  and  the  fine-art  publishers  seem  to 
like  my  little  drawings,  and  I  am  never  idle  for  a  single 
instant." 

"  No,  darling,  you  put  us  all  to  shame.  Do  you  think  I 
am  finding  fault  with  you  ?  But  you  must  not  do  it  all,  that 
is  just  it ;  and  as  Mrs.  Addison  no  longer  requires  me,  I  must 
look  out  for  another  situation" — for  during  the  past  year 
Waveney  had  acted  as  secretary  to  a  lady  living  near  them  in 
Cheyne  Walk.  It  had  only  been  a  morning  engagement,  and 
the  pay  had  not  been  much,  but  Waveney,  and  Mollie  too, 

25 


Mollie's  Prince 

had  found  immense  pleasure  in  spending  the  scanty  earn- 
ings. 

"Of  course,  I  know  you  must  do  something,"  returned 
Mollie,  rather  irritably,  for  even  her  sweet  nature  resented  the 
idea  of  losing  Waveney  as  an  insufferable  injury;  "but  you 
might  find  something  in  Chelsea." 

"No,  dear,"  returned  Waveney,  gently.  "I  have  tried, 
over  and  over  again,  and  I  can  find  nothing  suitable.  I  can- 
not teach — I  have  never  been  educated  for  a  governess ;  and 
no  one  near  us  seems  to  want  a  secretary  or  reader,  or  com- 
panion." 

"Are  you  quite  sure  of  that,  Waveney?" 

"  Quite  sure.  I  have  been  wasting  two  whole  months  wait- 
ing for  something  to  turn  up,  so  this  morning  I  made  up  my 
mind  that  I  would  see  Miss  Warburton.  She  was  so  nice, 
Mollie.  She  is  such  a  dear  woman  ;  a  little  quick  and  de- 
cided in  her  manner — what  some  people  would  call  abrupt — 
but  when  she  gets  interested  in  a  person  she  is  really  quite 
soft  and  kind.  She  heard  all  I  had  to  say,  asked  me  a  few 
questions,  and  then  turned  to  her  book. 

"'It  is  rather  a  lucky  chance  you  came  in  this  morning, 
Miss  Ward,'  she  said,  '  for  a  lady  who  called  yesterday  is  in 
want  of  a  young  person  who  can  read  well. '  And  then  she  ex- 
plained to  me  that  this  lady's  sister  was  troubled  at  times  with 
some  weakness  in  her  eyes  that  prevented  her  from  reading  to 
herself,  especially  of  an  evening,  and  that  they  required  some 
pleasant,  ladylike  girl,  who  would  make  herself  useful  in  little 
ways." 

"And  the  name,  Waveney?" 

"  The  name  is  Harford,  and  they  live  at  the  *  Red  House,' 
Erpingham.  They  are  very  nice  people,  but  at  the  present 
moment  she  is  staying  with  some  friends  in  Berkeley  Square, 
and  she  will  interview  me  there." 

"  Oh,  dear,  you  speak  as  though  everything  were  settled." 

"  No,  indeed,  no  such  luck.  Miss  Warburton  was  very  kind, 
very  sympathetic,  and  anxious  to  help  me  ;  but  she  advised 
me  not  to  set  my  heart  on  it  for  fear  I  should  be  disappointed. 
'  Miss  Harford  may  think  you  too  young, — yes,  I  know,'  as  I 
was  about  to  protest  indignantly  at  this, — '  you  are  really  nine- 
teen, but  no  one  would  think  you  were  over  seventeen.'  Isn't 
it  humiliating,  Mollie,  that  strangers  will  always  think  I  am  a 
child  ?  If  only  my  hair  would  grow  and  not  curl  over  my  head 
in  this  absurd  way.     People  always  take  you  for  the  eldest." 

26 


"King  Canute"  Comes  Back 

"And  you  are  to  see  Miss  Harford  to-morrow?" 

"  Yes,  dear;  and  you  must  get  Noel  to  throw  another  old 
shoe  after  me  for  luck."  Then  her  lip  trembled  and  her  eyes 
grew  misty. 

"  Dear,  do  not  make  it  harder  for  me  than  you  can  help. 
Don't  you  know  how  I  hate  to  leave  my  old  Sweetheart?  I 
would  rather  stay  at  home  and  live  on  bread  and  water  than 
fare  sumptuously  in  other  folks'  houses ;  I  feel  as  though  I 
should  die  with  home-sickness  and  ennui.  Oh,  it  is  no  cry- 
ing matter,  I  assure  you ;  it  is  the  rack  and  the  thumb-screw 
and  the  burning  faggots  all  in  one,  and  if  you  want  a  new 
martyr  for  the  calendar,  and  have  any  spare  halos  on  hand,  I 
am  your  woman. ' '  And  then,  of  course,  Mollie  did  as  she  was 
expected  to  do,  left  off  crying  and  began  to  laugh  in  the 
manner  that  often  made  her  father  call  her  "  his  wild  Irish 
girl."  And,  indeed,  there  was  something  very  Irish  in  Mol- 
lie's  mercurial  and  impressionable  temperament. 

The  next  minute  their  attention  was  attracted  by  strange 
noises  from  below. 

Something  heavy  was  being  dragged  along  the  passage,  ac- 
companied by  extraordinary  sibilant  sounds,  resembling  the 
swishing  and  hissing  of  an  ostler  rubbing  down  a  horse.  Both 
the  girls  seemed  to  recognise  the  sounds,  for  Wavenly  frowned 
and  bit  her  lip,  and  Mollie  said,  in  a  troubled  tone, — 

"Oh,  it  is  poor  old  '  Canute'  come  back;"  and  then  they 
ran  into  the  passage  and  looked  over  the  balusters.  Noel  and 
a  little  fair  man  in  a  shabby  velveteen  coat  were  hauling  a 
large  picture  between  them,  with  much  apparent  difficulty. 
One  end  had  got  jammed  in  the  narrow  staircase,  and  Noel's 
encouraging  "  swishes"  and  "  Whoa,  there — steady,  old  man  ! 
Keep  your  pecker  up,  and  don't  kick  over  the  traces,"  might 
have  been  addressed  to  a  skittish  mare.  Then  he  looked  up 
and  winked  at  his  sisters,  and  almost  fell  backwards  in  his 
attempt  to  feign  excessive  joy. 

"  Hurrah  !  three  cheers  !  Here  we  are  again — large  as  life, 
and  as  heavy  as  the  fat  woman  in  Mrs.  Jarley's  wax-works. 
But  what's  the  odds  as  long  as  you  are  happy,  as  the  lobster 
said  as  he  walked  into  the  pot." 

"Hold  your  tongue,  Noel,"  returned  his  father,  good- 
naturedly.  "It  is  your  fault  the  confounded  thing  has  got 
wedged.  Keep  it  straight,  and  we  shall  manage  it  well 
enough ;"  and  then  he  looked  up  at  the  two  faces  above  him. 

"  There  you  are,  my  darlings,"  he  said,  nodding  to  them. 

27 


Mollie's  Prince 

"You  see  I  am  bringing  our  old  friend  back;  we  will  have 
him  up  directly  if  only  this  young  jackanapes  will  leave  off 
his  monkey  tricks."  And  then  in  a  singularly  sweet  tenor 
voice  he  chanted, — 

"  You  hear  that  boy  laughing?     You  think  it  is  fun, 
But  the  angels  laugh  too  at  the  good  he  has  done. 
The  children  laugh  loud  as  they  troop  to  his  call, 
And  the  poor  man  that  knows  him  laughs  loudest  of  all." 

"  Oliver  "Wendell  Holmes,"  whispered  Mollie  ;  but  Waveney 
made  no  answer ;  she  only  ran  down  a  few  steps  and  gallantly 
put  her  shoulder  to  the  wheel,  and  after  a  few  more  tugs  "  King 
Canute"  was  safely  landed  in  the  studio,  where  Noel  executed 
a  war-dance  round  him,  with  many  a  wild  whoop,  after  the 
manner  of  Redskins. 

"  Father,  dear,"  whispered  Mollie,  in  a  delightfully  coaxing 
voice,  "sit  down  on  Grumps  while  I  make  your  coffee  ;"  for 
the  Ward  family,  being  somewhat  original,  gave  queer  names 
to  their  belongings ;  and  since  they  were  children  the  old 
couch  had  been  called  "  Grumps,"  tired  hands  and  tired  limbs 
and  aching  hearts  always  finding  it  a  comfortable  refuge. 

"So  I  will,  dear,"  returned  Mr.  Ward;  and  then  both  the 
girls  hung  about  him  and  kissed  him,  and  Mollie  brushed  back 
his  hair,  and  put  a  rose  in  his  buttonhole  ;  but  Waveney  only 
sat  down  beside  him  and  held  his  hand  silently. 

There  was  no  difficulty  in  discovering  where  Noel  got  his 
good  looks.  In  his  youth  Everard  Ward  had  been  considered 
so  handsome  that  artists  had  implored  him  to  sit  to  them ;  and 
for  many  years  well-principled  heads  of  girls'  colleges  feared 
to  engage  him  as  drawing-master. 

And  even  now,  in  spite  of  the  tired  eyes  and  careworn  ex- 
pression, and  the  haggardness  brought  on  by  the  tension  of 
over-work  and  late  hours,  the  face  was  almost  perfect,  only 
the  fair  hair  had  worn  off  the  forehead  and  was  becoming  a 
little  grey — "  pepper  and  salt,"  Mollie  called  it.  But  the  thing 
that  struck  strangers  most  was  his  air  of  refinement,  in  spite 
of  his  shabby  coat  and  old  hat ;  no  one  could  deny  that  he 
was  a  gentleman  ;  and  in  this  they  were  right. 

Everard  Ward  was  a  man  who  if  he  had  mixed  in  society 
would  have  made  many  friends.  In  the  old  days  he  had  been 
dearly  loved  and  greatly  admired  ;  but  just  when  his  prospects 
were  brightest  and  the  future  seemed  gilded  with  success,  he 
suddenly  took  the  bit  between  his  teeth  and  bolted — not  down 

28 


"King  Canute"  Comes  Back 

hill;  his  mother's  sweet  memory  and  his  own  dignity  pre- 
vented that — but  across  country,  down  side  roads  that  had  no 
thoroughfare,  and  which  landed  him  in  bogs  of  difficulty. 

For  in  spite  of  his  soft  heart  and  easy  good-nature  Everard 
was  always  offending  people  ;  his  wealthy  godfather,  for  exam- 
ple, when  he  refused  to  take  orders  and  to  be  inducted  into  a 
family  living  ;  and  again  his  sole  remaining  relative,  an  uncle, 
who  wished  him  to  go  into  the  War  Office. 

"Life  is  an  awful  muddle,"  he  would  say  sometimes;  but 
in  reality  he  made  his  own  difficulties.  His  last  act  of  youth- 
ful madness  was  when  he  left  the  Stock  Exchange,  where  an 
old  friend  of  his  father  had  given  him  a  berth,  and  had  joined 
a  set  of  young  artistic  Bohemians. 

At  that  time  he  was  supposed  by  his  friends  to  be  on  the 
brink  of  an  engagement  to  an  heiress,  he  had  seemed  warmly 
attached  to  her,  until  at  a  ball  he  met  Dorothy  Sinclair,  and 
fell  desperately  in  love  with  her. 

This  was  his  crowning  act  of  madness ;  and  when  he  mar- 
ried her  his  friends  shook  their  heads  disapprovingly,  and  said 
to  each  other  that  that  fool  of  a  Ward  had  done  for  himself 
now.  Why,  the  fellow  must  be  imbecile  to  throw  away  a  for- 
tune and  a  good  sort  of  woman  like  that,  to  marry  a  pretty 
little  girl,  without  a  penny  for  her  dower ! 

And,  indeed,  though  Dorothy  was  a  lovely  young  creature, 
and  as  good  and  lovable  as  her  own  Mollie,  she  was  the  last 
woman  Everard  ought  to  have  married. 

The  heiress  would  have  made  a  man  of  him,  and  he  would 
have  spent  her  money  royally  and  been  the  best  of  husbands 
to  her ;  but  Dorothy  lacked  backbone.  She  was  one  of  those 
soft,  weak  women  who  need  a  strong  arm  to  lean  upon. 

And  so,  when  the  children  came,  and  the  cold,  cold  blast 
of  adversity  began  to  blow  upon  them ;  when  Everard  could 
not  sell  his  pictures,  and  poverty  stared  them  in  the  face;  — 
then  she  lost  heart  and  courage. 

"  Everard,  dearest,  I  have  not  been  the  right  wife  for  you," 
she  said  once;  for  that  long,  fatal  illness  taught  her  many 
things.  "Oh,  I  see  it  all  so  much  more  clearly  now.  I  have 
disheartened  you  when  you  needed  encouragement,  and  when 
our  troubles  came  I  did  not  bear  them  well." 

"  You  have  been  the  sweetest  wife  in  the  world  to  me,"  was 
his  answer ;  and  then  Dorothy  had  smiled  at  him  well  pleased. 
Yes,  he  had  been  her  true  lover,  and  he  was  her  lover  to  the 
last ;  and  when  she  died,  leaving  three  young  children  to  his 

29 


Mollie's  Prince 

care,  Everard  Ward  mourned  for  her  as  truly  as  any  man 
could  do. 

Those  were  terrible  years  for  him  that  followed  his  wife's 
death  ;  his  twin  girls  were  only  ten  years  old,  and  Noel  a  pale- 
faced  urchin  of  five. 

He  never  quite  knew  how  he  lived  through  them,  but  ne- 
cessity goaded  him  to  exertion.  He  worked  doggedly  all  day 
long,  coming  home  whenever  it  was  possible  to  take  his  meals 
with  the  children.  Sometimes  some  kind-hearted  schoolmis- 
tress would  tell  him  to  bring  one  of  his  little  girls  with  him, 
and  this  was  always  a  red-letter  day  for  Waveney  and  Mollie, 
for  the  poor  little  things  led  a  dull  life  until  Everard  was  able 
to  send  them  to  day-school ;  and  after  that  they  were  quite 
happy. 

He  used  to  watch  them  sometimes  as  they  went  down  the 
street  with  their  satchel  of  books.  Waveney  would  be  dancing 
along  like  a  fairy  child,  with  little  springy  jumps  and  bounds, 
as  though  the  sunshine  intoxicated  her,  and  Mollie  would 
hurry  after  her,  limping  and  lurching  in  her  haste,  with  her 
golden  brown  hair  streaming  over  her  shoulders,  and  her 
sweet,  innocent  face  lifted  smilingly  to  every  passer-by. 

"My  sweet  Moll,  she  is  her  mother's  image,"  Everard 
would  say  to  himself,  and  his  eyes  would  be  a  little  dim  ;  for, 
with  all  his  faults  and  troubles  and  idiosyncrasies,  no  father 
was  more  devoted.  His  twin  daughters  were  the  joy  and 
pride  of  his  heart.  When  he  came  home  at  night,  tired  out 
with  a  long  day's  work,  the  very  sound  of  their  voices  as  he 
put  the  latchkey  in  the  door  seemed  to  refresh  and  invigorate 
him. 

"Here's  dad!  here's  dear  old  dad!"  they  would  cry, 
running  out  to  meet  him  ;  and  then  they  would  kiss  and 
cuddle  him,  and  purr  over  him  like  warm,  soft  young  kittens. 
Noel  would  pull  off  his  boots  and  bring  him  his  slippers,  and 
then  "Grumps"  would  be  dragged  up  to  the  fire,  and  Ann 
would  be  ordered  to  bring  up  the  tea  quick,  and  then  they 
would  all  wait  on  him  as  though  he  were  a  decrepit  old  man ; 
and  Noel,  wrho  was  a  humorist  even  at  that  early  age,  would 
pretend  to  be  a  waiter,  and  say,  "Yessir,"  and  "No,  sir," 
and  "  Next  thing,  sir,"  with  an  old  rag  of  a  towel  on  his  arm 
to  represent  a  napkin. 

"I  saw  Ward  the  other  evening,"  a  friend  of  his  said  one 
day  to  a  lady;  "he  teaches  drawing  at  Welbeck  College, 
where  I  take  the  literature  classes,  so  I  often  see  him ;  and 


"  King  Canute"  Comes  Back 

one  evening  be  took  me  home  with  him  to  Cleveland  Terrace. 
Poor  old  Ward  !  he  was  not  cut  out  for  a  drawing  master ;  he 
was  always  a  bit  nighty  and  full  of  whimsies,  and  used  to  fly 
his  kite  too  high  in  the  old  days ;  but  he  made  a  fool  of  him- 
self, you  know,  with  that  unlucky  marriage." 

"Indeed,"  returned  the  lady,  quietly. 

"Ah,  well!  that  is  all  ancient  history.  He  has  made  his 
bed,  poor  fellow,  and  must  just  lie  on  it ;  but  I  do  so  hate 
seeing  a  man's  career  marred,  especially  if  he  is  a  good  sort, 
like  Ward!" 

"And  you  went  home  with  him?"  observed  his  hearer,  in 
the  same  quiet  tone. 

"Yes;  and  upon  my  word  it  was  really  a  pretty  little 
family  picture.  There  was  Ward,  looking  like  a  sleepy 
Adonis  with  his  fair  hair  rumpled  all  over  his  head,  and  two 
sweet  little  girls  hanging  on  each  arm,  and  cooing  over  him ; 
and  that  fine  boy  of  his  lying  on  the  rug  with  a  picture.  I 
declare  my  snug  bachelor  rooms  looked  quite  dull  that  night." 

When  anything  ailed  one  of  the  twins,  Everard's  misery 
would  have  touched  the  most  stony  heart.  When  Mollie  had 
measles,  he  nursed  her  night  and  day,  and  when  Waveney 
and  Noel  also  sickened,  he  was  so  worn  out  that  if  a  kindly 
friend  had  not  come  to  his  assistance,  he  would  soon  have 
been  on  a  sick-bed. 

Happily  it  was  holiday  time,  and  there  were  no  schools  or 
classes  ;  Miss  Martin  was  a  governess  herself,  but  with  the 
divine  self-abnegation  of  a  good-hearted  woman  she  gave  up 
a  pleasant  visit  to  a  country  house  to  help  poor  Mr.  Ward — 
women  were  always  doing  that  sort  of  thing  for  Everard  Ward. 
But  her  little  patients  gave  her  a  great  deal  of  trouble. 

Mollie  cried  and  would  not  take  her  medicine  from  anyone 
but  father,  and  Waveney  was  pettish ;  but  Noel  was  the  worst 
of  all. 

Miss  Martin  was  plain -featured,  and  wore  spectacles,  and 
Noel,  who  inherited  his  father's  love  of  beauty,  objected  to 
-her  strongly.  "Go  away,"  he  said,  fretfully;  "we  don't 
want  no  frights  in  goggles;"  and  he  began  to  roar  so  lustily 
that  Everard  was  roused  from  his  sleep  and  came,  pale  and 
weary  and  dishevelled,  to  expostulate  with  his  son  and  heir. 

But  Noel,  who  was  feverish  and  uncomfortable,  repeated 
his  offence. 

"  We  don't  want  no  frights  here,  dad.     Tell  her  to  go." 

"  For  shame,  Noel,"  returned  his  father,  sternly.     "  I  am 

3i 


Mollie's  Prince 

quite  shocked  at  you.  This  kind  lady  has  come  to  help  us.: 
and  don't  you  know,  my  boy,  that  to  a  gentleman  all  women 
are  beautiful  ?" 

"  Please  don't  scold  him,  Mr.  Ward,"  returned  Miss  Mar- 
tin, good-naturedly ;  but  her  sallow  face  was  a  little  flushed. 
"  Noel  and  I  will  soon  be  good  friends;  it  is  only  the  fever 
makes  him  fractious."  And  as  tact  and  good  temper  gen- 
erally win  the  day,  the  children  soon  got  very  fond  of  their 
dear  Marty,  as  they  called  her  ;  and  as  they  grew  up  she 
became  their  most  valued  friend  and  adviser  until  her  death. 

It  was  Miss  Martin  whose  sensible  arguments  overcame 
Everard's  rooted  aversion  to  the  idea  of  his  girls  working. 

"As  long  as  I  live  I  will  work  for  them,"  he  would  say; 
but  Miss  Martin  stuck  to  her  point  gallantly. 

"  Life  is  so  uncertain,  Mr.  Ward.  An  accident  any  day 
might  prevent  you  from  earning  your  bread — you  will  forgive 
me  for  speaking  plainly.  Let  them  work  while  they  are 
young."  But  though  Everard  owned  himself  convinced  by 
her  arguments,  it  was  a  bitter  day  to  him  when  Waveney  be- 
came Mrs.  Addison's  secretary. 

"  Father  would  cut  the  moon  up  in  little  bits  and  give  them 
to  us,"  Waveney  had  said  to  herself.  And,  indeed,  to  the 
fond,  foolish  fellow,  no  gift  could  have  been  too  precious  for 
those  cherished  darlings  of  his  heart. 

Everard  always  told  people  that  he  loved  them  just  alike, 
and  he  honestly  thought  so ;  and  yet,  if  Waveney's  finger 
ached,  it  seemed  to  pain  him  all  over ;  and  all  the  world 
knows  what  that  means  ! 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE   WARD    FAMILY   AT    HOME. 

"And  the  night  shall  be  filled  with  music, 
And  the  cares  that  infest  the  day 
Shall  fold  their  tents  like  the  Arabs, 
And  as  silently  steal  away." 

Longfellow. 

As  soon  as  Mollie  had  left  the  room,  on  household  cares 
intent,  Waveney  lighted  a  small,  shaded  lamp  that  stood  on 
the  table.     It  was  a  warm  evening,  and  both  the  windows 

32 


The  Ward  Family  at  Home 

were  thrown  up.  The  moon  had  just  risen,  and  the  vine- 
leaves  that  festooned  the  balcony  had  silver  edges.  As  Wave- 
ney  turned  up  the  lamp  she  said,  cheerfully,  "  Now  we  can 
see  each  other's  faces,"  and  then  she  sat  down  again  and 
slipped  her  hand  in  her  father's  arm. 

"  Tell  me  all  about  it,  dad,  directly  minute."  And  then  a 
smile  came  to  Mr.  Ward's  tired  face,  for  this  was  one  of  the 
family  stock  jokes  that  were  never  stale,  never  anything  but 
delightful  and  fresh,  and  whenever  one  of  his  girls  said  it,  it 
brought  back  Waveney  in  her  baby  days,  a  tiny  despot  in  red 
shoes,  with  a  head  "  brimming  over  with  curls,"  stamping  her 
little  feet  and  calling  out  in  shrill  treble,  "  Directly  minute  ! 
Miss  Baby  won't  wait  nohow." 

"  There  is  nothing  good  to  hear,  little  girl,"  returned  Mr. 
Ward,  with  a  strained  laugh.  "  When  you  spell  failure,  spell 
it  with  a  big  F,  my  dear;  that's  all."  But  another  skilful 
question  or  two  soon  drew  forth  the  whole  story. 

He  had  had  a  harassing,  disappointing  day.  The  dealers 
who  had  sold  one  or  two  of  his  smaller  pictures  refused  to 
give  "  King  Canute"  house-room.  They  could  not  possibly 
dispose  of  such  a  picture,  they  said ;  it  was  too  large  and 
cumbersome,  and  there  were  serious  defects  in  it.  One  or 
two  of  the  figures  were  out  of  drawing ;  the  waves  were  too 
solid,  looking  like  molten  lead.  There  was  no  finesse,  no 
delicacy  of  execution,  the  colouring  was  crude ;  in  fact,  the 
criticism  had  been  scathing. 

"  They  were  so  rough  on  me  that  my  back  was  up  at  last," 
went  on  Mr.  Ward,  "  and  when  Wilkes  said  I  might  leave  it 
if  I  liked,  and  he  would  try  and  get  a  customer  for  it,  I  saw 
he  was  only  letting  me  down  a  bit  easier,  and  that  he  did  not 
believe  it  would  sell,  so  I  just  called  a  cab  and  brought  it 
back." 

Waveney  winced.  All  this  cab  hire  could  not  be  afforded. 
And  then,  what  were  they  to  do  ?  But  the  next  moment  she 
was  stroking  the  worn  coat-sleeve  tenderly,  and  her  voice  was 
as  cheerful  as  ever. 

"Dad,  it  is  a  long  lane  that  has  no  turning — remember 
that ;  and  it  is  no  use  fretting  over  spilt  milk.  To-morrow 
we  will  get  Noel  to  hang  up  dear  old  King  Canute  in  that 
blank  space,  and  if  the  stupid,  cantankerous  old  dealers  will 
not  have  anything  to  say  to  him,  Mollie  and  I  will  admire 
him  every  day  of  our  lives.  Molten  lead,  indeed  !"  jerking 
her  chin  contemptuously. 

3  33 


Mollie's  Prince 

But  Mr.  Ward,  who  had  been  too  much  crushed  to  revive  at 
once,  only  shook  his  head  and  sighed.  In  his  heart  he  knew 
the  dealers  were  right,  and  that  the  work  was  not  really  well 
done.  The  stormy  sunset  looked  blotchy  and  unreal,  and  the 
solidity  of  the  water  was  apparent,  even  to  him.  The  whole 
thing  was  faulty,  mawkish,  amateurish,  and  futile.  He  had 
been  in  a  perfect  rage  against  himself,  the  dealers,  and  all 
the  rest  of  the  world  as  he  clambered  into  his  cab. 

He  had  had  a  rap  upon  the  knuckles  once  too  often.  Well, 
he  had  learnt  his  lesson  at  last ;  but  what  a  fool  and  dunce  he 
had  been  ! 

"  Take  your  punishment,  my  boy,"  he  had  said  to  himself, 
grimly.  "  Write  yourself  Everard  Ward,  U.A.,  unmitigated 
ass ;  and  wear  your  fool's  cap  with  a  jaunty  air. 

"  You  wanted  to  paint  a  big  historical  picture  !  to  be  some- 
thing better  than  a  drawing-master.  Oh,  you  oaf,  you  dotard, 
you  old  driveller,  to  think  that  you  could  set  the  Thames  on 
fire,  that  you  could  do  something  to  keep  your  memory  fresh 
and  green.  Go  back  to  your  water-colour  landscapes,  to  your 
water-wheels  and  cottages,  your  porches  smothered  in  wood- 
bine ;  you  are  at  the  bottom  of  your  class,  my  lad,  and  there 
you  wiil  be  to  the  end  of  the  chapter."  And  then — for  his 
imagination  was  very  vivid — he  saw  himself,  an  elderly  man, 
in  his  shabby  great-coat,  going  out  all  weathers  to  his  schools 
— a  little  shrunk,  a  little  more  hopeless,  and  his  girls,  his  twin 
blessings — but  here  the  hot  tears  rose  to  his  eyes,  and  he  bit 
his  lips.  Oh,  it  was  hard,  hard — and  it  was  for  their  sakes  he 
had  worked  and  toiled. 

Just  then  Mollie  came  with  a  little  tray.  There  was  a 
tall,  curious  old  china  cup  on  it  which  was  known  in  the 
family  as  "  Dives,"  and  was  considered  one  of  their  choicest 
treasures.  When  any  one  was  ill,  the  sight  of  Dives,  filled  to 
the  brim  with  fragrant  coffee  or  delicious  chocolate,  would 
bring  a  smile  to  pale  lips.  As  she  placed  the  tray  beside  her 
father,  Mollie's  face  wore  a  triumphant  air,  as  though  she 
would  have  said,  "  If  any  one  could  beat  that  cup  of  coffee  or 
make  better  toast,  I  should  like  to  see  her,  that's  all." 

"Thanks,  dearest,"  returned  her  father,  gently;  "but  you 
have  scorched  your  face,  my  sweet  Moll." 

"Oh,  that  is  nothing,"  returned  Mollie,  hastily,  putting 
up  her  hands  to  her  hot  cheeks;  she  had  been  through  all 
sorts  of  vicissitudes  during  the  last  half-hour.  The  water 
would  not  boil,  or  the  fire  burn  properly,  though  she  and 


The  Ward  Family  at  Home 

Noel  had  put  a  whole  bundle  of  sticks  into  it,  and  at  every 
stick  he  had  asked  her  a  fresh  conundrum. 

"  Have  you  told  dad  about  Monsieur  Blackie?"  she  asked  ; 
and  then  Waveney  smiled. 

"  No,  but  I  will,  presently,  when  father  has  had  his  supper. 
Come  out  on  the  balcony  a  moment,  Mollie.  Is  not  the 
moonlight  lovely !" 

"Yes,  I  do  love  these  'white  nights,'  "  returned  Mollie, 
ecstatically.  "We  used  to  call  them  silver  nights  when  we 
were  wee  children.  Those  roofs  look  as  though  they  were 
covered  with  snow.  And  just  see  how  nice  our  shabby  old 
courtyard  looks ;  those  privets  are  quite  grand.  What  an  old 
dear  the  moon  is,  Wave  !  She  covers  up  all  little  defects  so 
nicely,  and  glorifies  all  common  things." 

But  Waveney  did  not  hear  this  little  rhapsody,  neither  had 
she  called  Mollie  out  to  watch  moonlight  effects. 

"  Moll,  just  listen  to  me  a  moment :  you  must  not  say  a 
word  to  father  about  Harley  Street — not  one  word." 

Mollie  looked  at  her  blankly. 

"And  why  not,  Wave?" 

"Oh,  dear,  not  for  worlds,"  returned  Waveney,  earn- 
estly. "  He  is  so  low,  so  unlike  himself  to-night ;  he  had 
so  set  his  heart  on  that  poor  old  thing  being  a  success,  but 
they  have  all  been  throwing  stones  at  him,  and  he  is  so  hurt 
about  it.  Don't  you  know  what  Noel  always  says:  'You 
must  not  hit  a  man  who  is  down.'  Those  are  school  ethics, 
but  it  is  true.  Dad  is  just  like  the  brere  rabbit  to-night, — 
'  him  lies  low,' — and  we  must  just  talk  to  him  and  make  him 
laugh." 

"But  Wave,  surely" — and  Mollie,  who  was  nothing  but 
a  big,  beautiful,  simple  child,  looked  quite  shocked — 
''surely  you  cannot  mean  to  see  that  lady  without  speaking 
to  father!" 

"  But  I  do  mean  it,  Mollie.  Of  course  I  want  to  tell  father 
— I  always  long  to  tell  him  everything, — but  it  would  be  rank 
selfishness  to-night ;  it  would  be  the  last  straw,  that  terrible 
straw  that  breaks  the  camel's  back.  And  I  know  just  what  he 
would  do ;  he  would  not  smoke  his  pipe  and  he  would  not 
sleep  a  wink,  and  he  would  be  like  a  wreck  to-morrow  when 
he  goes  to  Norwood.  No  :  when  it  is  settled  it  will  be  time 
enough  to  tell  him  ;"  and,  as  usual,  Mollie  submitted  to  her 
sister's  stronger  will.  "  Waveney  was  the  clever  one,"  she 
would  say ;   ' '  she  saw  things  more  clearly,  and  she  was  gen- 

35 


Mollie's  Prince 

erally  right;"  for  Mollie  thought  nothing  of  herself,  and  was 
always  covered  with  blushes  and  confusion  if  any  one  praised 
her. 

So  Waveney  had  her  way,  and  as  Mr.  Ward  smoked  his  pipe 
she  told  him  all  about  Monsieur  Blackie ;  and  then  Noel  shut 
up  his  lesson-books  and  came  up  stairs,  and  the  three  young 
people  sang  little  glees  and  songs  unaccompanied.  And 
presently  Mr.  Ward  laid  down  his  empty  pipe  and  joined  too. 

And  the  girls'  voices  were  so  fresh  and  clear,  and  the  man's 
tenor  so  sweet,  that  a  passer-by  stood  for  a  long  time  to 
listen. 

Every  now  and  then  an  odd  boyish  voice,  with  a  crack  in 
it,  chimed  in  like  a  jangling  bell  out  of  tune.  "  Oh,  Noel, 
please  do  not  sing  so  out  of  tune;  you  are  as  flat  as  a  pan- 
cake, and  as  rough  as  a  nutmeg  grater,  isn't  he,  Moll  ?"  and 
then  Waveney  made  a  face  at  the  unfortunate  minstrel. 

"Don't  come  the  peacock  over  me,"  began  Noel,  wrath- 
fully,  for  any  remark  on  his  cracked  voice  tried  his  temper. 
"  Hit  one  of  your  own  size,  miss." 

"Hush,  hush,  Noel!"  observed  his  father,  good-humour- 
edly.  "You  will  do  well  enough  some  day.  '  Drink  to  me 
only  with  thine  eyes' — let  us  sing  that,  my  pets."  And  then 
the  voices  began  again,  and  the  listener  underneath  the  win- 
dow smiled  to  himself  and  walked  on. 

It  was  late,  and  Mollie  was  yawning  before  the  little  con- 
cert was  over ;  but  when  Mr.  Ward  went  to  his  room  that 
night  the  weight  of  oppression  seemed  less  heavy.  Yes,  he 
had  been  a  fool,  but  most  men  made  mistakes  in  their  lives, 
and  he  was  not  so  old  yet — only  forty-four,  for  he  had  married 
young.  He  would  leave  off  straining  after  impossibilities, 
and  take  his  friends'  advice — paint  pot  boilers  in  his  leisure 
hours,  and  devote  his  best  energies  to  his  pupils.  "Cincin- 
natus  went  back  to  the  plough,  and  why  not  Everard  Ward  ?' ' 
And  then  he  wound  up  his  watch  and  went  to  sleep.  But 
long  after  the  heavy-footed  Ann  had  climbed  up  to  her  attic, 
breathing  heavily,  and  carrying  the  old  black  cat,  Mrs.  Mug- 
gins, in  her  arms,  and  long  after  Mollie  had  fallen  into  her 
first  sleep,  and  was  dreaming  sweetly  of  a  leafy  wood,  where 
primroses  grew  as  plentifully  as  blackberries,  a  little  white 
figure  sat  huddled  up  on  the  narrow  window-seat,  staring  out 
absently  on  the  moonlight. 

Waveney  could  see  the  dim  roofs  of  the  Hospital ;  the  old 
men  were  all  now  asleep  in  their  cabin-like  cubicles — some  of 

36 


The  Ward  Family  at  Home 

them  fighting  their  battles  over  again,  others  dreaming  of 
wives  and  children. 

"  After  all,  it  must  be  nice  to  be  old,  and  to  know  that  the 
fight  is  over,"  thought  the  girl,  a  little  sadly.  ''Life  is  so 
difficult,  sometimes  :  when  we  were  children  we  did  not  think 
so.  I  suppose  other  girls  would  have  said  we  had  rather  a 
dull  life ;  but  how  happy  we  were  !  what  grand  times  we  had 
that  day  at  the  Zoological  Gardens,  for  example  !  and  that 
Christmas  when  father  took  us  to  the  pantomime  !  I  remem- 
ber the  next  day  Mollie  and  I  made  up  our  minds  to  be  ballet- 
dancers,  and  Noel  decided  to  be  a  clown  ;"  and  here  Waveney 
gave  a  soft  little  laugh.  "  Dear  father,  it  was  so  good  of  him 
not  to  laugh  at  us.  Most  people  would  have  called  us  silly 
children,  but  he  listened  to  us  quite  seriously,  and  recom- 
mended us  to  practise  our  dancing  sedulously ;  only  he  would 
not  hear  of  shortening  our  skirts — he  said  later  on  would  do 
for  that.  Oh,  dear,  oh,  dear,  was  it  not  just  like  him?  And 
of  course  by  the  next  Christmas  we  had  forgotten  all  about  it." 

But  even  these  reminiscences,  amusing  as  they  were,  could 
not  long  hinder  Waveney' s  painful  reflections.  The  idea  of 
leaving  home  and  going  out  into  the  world  was  utterly  repug- 
nant to  her ;  she  had  told  Mollie  in  playful  fashion  that  it  was 
the  rack  and  the  thumb-screw  and  the  faggots  combined ;  but 
in  reality  the  decision  had  cost  her  a  bitter  struggle,  and 
nothing  but  the  strongest  sense  of  duty  could  have  nerved  her 
to  the  effort. 

Waveney's  nature  was  far  less  emotional  than  Mollie's,  but 
her  affections  were  very  deep.  Her  love  for  her  father  and 
twin  sister  amounted  to  passion.  When  she  read  the  words, 
"  Little  children,  keep  yourselves  from  idols,"  she  always  held 
her  breath,  made  a  mental  reservation,  and  went  on. 

"If  only  people  liked  father's  pictures  !"  she  sighed,  and 
then  another  pang  crossed  her,  as  she  remembered  his  tired 
face,  how  old  and  careworn  he  had  looked,  until  they  had 
sung  some  of  his  favourite  songs,  and  then  his  eyes  had 
become  bright  again. 

"Dear  old  dad,  how  he  will  miss  me!"  But  when  she 
thought  of  Mollie  the  lump  in  her  throat  seemed  to  strangle 
her  :  they  had  never  in  their  lives  been  parted  for  a  single 
night. 

"And  yet  it  is  my  duty  to  go,"  thought  poor  Waveney. 
"  We  are  growing  poorer  every  day,  and  it  will  be  years  before 
Noel  can  earn  much.     I  am  afraid  the  schools  are  falling  off 

37 


Mollie's  Prince 

a  little.  Oh,  yes  ;  there  is  no  doubt  about  it,  and  I  must  go  ;" 
and  Waveney  shed  a  few  tears,  and  then,  chilled  and  de- 
pressed, she  got  into  bed  ;  and  Mollie  turned  over  in  her  sleep 
and  threw  out  her  warm  young  arms. 

"It  was  delicious,"  she  murmured,  drowsily;  "and  oh, 
Wave,  why  are  you  so  cold,  darling  ?  What  have  you  been 
doing?"     But  Waveney  only  shivered  a  little  and  kissed  her. 

The  next  morning  both  the  girls  rose  in  good  time  to  pre- 
pare the  early  breakfast.  Noel  always  left  home  at  half  past 
eight — long  ago  an  unknown  friend  of  Mr.  Ward's  had  offered 
to  pay  his  son's  school  fees,  and,  acting  on  advice,  he  had 
sent  the  boy  to  St.  Paul's.  He  was  a  clever  lad,  and  in  favour 
with  all  his  masters ;  he  liked  work  and  never  shirked  it. 
But  his  pet  passion  was  football ;  he  was  fond  of  enlarging  on 
his  triumphs,  and  gloried  in  the  kicks  he  received.  It  was 
understood  in  the  family  circle  that  he  was  to  get  a  scholarship 
and  go  to  Oxford ;  and  of  course  a  fellowship  would  follow. 

"'The  veiled  Prophet'  will  expect  it,  my  dear,"  Mollie 
would  say,  at  intervals,  when  she  was  afraid  he  was  becoming 
slack ;  for  under  this  figure  of  speech  they  always  spoke  of 
their  unknown  benefactor.  The  whole  thing  was  a  mystery. 
The  solicitor  who  wrote  to  Mr.  Ward  only  mentioned  his 
client  vaguely — "  an  old  friend  of  Mr.  Ward's  is  desirous  of 
doing  him  this  service;"  and  in  succeeding  letters,  "My 
client  has  desired  me  to  send  you  this  cheque;"  and  so  on. 

The  girls  and  Noel,  who  were  dying  with  curiosity,  often 
begged  their  father  to  go  to  Lincoln's  Inn  and  see  Mr.  Duncan 
— the  firm  of  Duncan  &  Son  was  a  good  old-fashioned  firm  ; 
but  Mr.  Ward  always  declined  to  do  this.  If  his  old  friend 
did  not  choose  to  divulge  himself,  he  had  some  good  reason 
for  his  reticence  and  it  would  be  ungrateful  and  bad  form  to 
force  his  hand. 

"  He  is  a  good  soul,  you  may  depend  on  that,"  was  all  they 
could  get  him  to  say ;  but  in  reality  he  secretly  puzzled  over 
it.  "  It  must  be  some  friend  of  Dorothy's,"  he  would  say  to 
himself.  "  There  was  that  old  lover  of  hers,  who  went  out 
to  the  Bahamas  and  made  his  pile — he  married,  but  he  never 
had  any  children ;  I  do  not  mention  his  name  to  the  young- 
sters— better  not,  I  think  ;  but  I  have  a  notion  it  is  Carstairs  ; 
he  was  a  melancholy,  Quixotic  sort  of  chap,  and  he  was  des- 
perately gone  on  Dorothy." 

"  Dad's  a  bit  stiff  about  the  Prophet,"  Noel  once  said  to 
his  sisters,  "  but  if  I  am  in  luck's  way  and  get  a  scholarship, 

33 


The  Ward  Family  at  Home 

I  shall  just  go  up  to  Lincoln's  Inn  myself  and  interview  the 
old  buffer;"  and  this  seemed  so  venturesome  and  terrifying  a 
project  that  Mollie  gasped,  and  said,  "  Oh,  no,  not  really, 
Noel !"  and  Waveney  opened  her  eyes  a  little  widely. 

"You  bet  I  do,"  returned  Noel,  cocking  his  chin  in  a 
lordly  way.  "  I  shall  just  march  in  as  cool  as  a  cucumber, 
and  as  bold  as  brass.  '  I  have  come  to  thank  my  unknown 
benefactor,  sir,'  I  would  say  with  my  finest  air,  '  for  the  good 
education  I  have  received.  I  have  the  satisfaction  of  telling 
you  that  I  have  gained  a  scholarship — eighty  pounds  a  year — 
and  that,  with  the  kind  permission — of — of  my  occult  and 
mysterious  friend,  I  wish  to  matriculate  at  Balliol.  As  I  have 
now  attained  the  age  of  manhood,  is  it  too  much  to  ask  the 
name  of  my  venerable  benefactor?'  " 

"Oh,  Wave,  is  he  not  ridiculous?"  laughed  Mollie;  but 
Waveney  looked  at  her  young  brother  rather  gravely. 

"Don't,  Noel,  dear;  father  would  not  like  it."  But  Noel 
only  shrugged  his  shoulders  at  this.  He  had  his  own  opinions 
about  things,  and  when  he  made  up  his  mind  it  was  very  diffi- 
cult to  move  him.  Never  were  father  and  son  more  unlike ; 
and  yet  they  were  the  best  of  friends. 

Mr.  Ward  always  had  a  hard  day's  work  on  Tuesday.  He 
had  two  schools  at  Norwood,  and  never  came  home  until 
evening.  The  girls  always  took  extra  pains  with  the  break- 
fast-table on  the  Norwood  days,  and  while  Mollie  made  the 
coffee,  boiled  the  eggs,  and  superintended  the  toast-making, 
Waveney  made  up  dainty  little  pats  of  butter  and  placed  them 
on  vine-leaves.  Then  she  went  into  the  narrow  little  slip  of 
garden  behind  the  house  and  gathered  a  late  rose  and  laid  it 
on  her  father's  plate. 

Waveney  was  in  excellent  spirits  all  breakfast-time.  She 
laughed  and  talked  with  Noel,  while  Mollie  sat  behind  her 
coffee-pot  and  looked  at  her  with  puzzled  eyes. 

"How  can  Wave  laugh  like  that  when  she  knows,  she 
knows ! ' '  she  thought,  wonderingly ;  but  at  that  moment 
Waveney  looked  at  her  with  a  smile  so  sweet  and  so  full 
of  sadness,  that  poor  Mollie  nearly  choked,  and  her  eyes 
brimmed  over  with  tears. 


39 


Mollie's  Prince 


CHAPTER  V. 

FAIRY    MAGNIFICENT. 

"  Leave  no  stone  unturned." 

Euripides. 

"  What  is  useful  is  beautiful." 

Socrates. 

"  Wish  me  good  luck,  and  do  not  expect  me  until  you  see 
me,"  were  Waveney's  last  words,  as  Mollie  stood  at  the  door 
with  a  very  woe-begone  face.  "Cheer  up,  Moll.  Care 
killed  the  cat,  you  know;"  and  then  she  waved  her  hand  and 
vanished. 

It  was  still  quite  early  in  the  afternoon  when  she  reached 
Berkeley  Square.  In  spite  of  her  assumed  cheerfulness,  her 
courage  was  at  a  low  ebb.  The  imposing  appearance  of  the 
houses  awed  her ;  she  knocked  timidly,  and  the  butler  who 
opened  the  door  looked  like  a  dignified  and  venerable  clergy- 
man. 

He  received  her  affably,  as  though  she  were  an  expected 
guest.  Miss  Harford  was  out  driving,  but  would  be  back 
shortly ;  his  mistress,  Mrs.  Mainwaring,  had  desired  that  Miss 
Ward  should  be  shown  into  the  drawing-room. 

Waveney  never  felt  so  small  and  insignificant  in  her  life. 
For  the  first  time  she  was  conscious  of  a  wish  to  be  tall,  as 
she  followed  him  down  the  corridor.  Then  the  thickness  of 
the  carpets  distracted  her,  and  the  cabinets  of  china.  Then 
a  door  was  opened,  and  she  heard  her  name  announced,  and 
a  soft  little  voice  said,  "  Certainly,  Druce.  Show  the  young 
lady  in." 

For  one  moment  Waveney  hesitated.  The  owner  of  the 
voice  seemed  invisible.  It  was  a  beautiful  room,  grander 
than  anything  that  the  girl  had  ever  seen,  and  it  was  full  of 
sunshine  and  the  scent  of  flowers.  Tall  palms  were  every- 
where, and  china  pots  with  wonderful  Japanese  chrysanthe- 
mums, and  there  were  screens  and  standard  lamps,  and  a 
curtained  archway  leading  to  an  inner  room ;  and  here  Wa- 
veney at  last  discovered  a  tiny  old  lady,  half  buried  in  an 
immense  easy  chair.     She  was  the  prettiest  old  lady  in  the 

40 


Fairy  Magnificent 


world,  but  as  diminutive  as  a  fairy ;  her  cheeks  were  as  pink 
as  Mollie's ;  and  she  had  beautiful  silvery  curls  under  her  lace 
cap.  A  mass  of  white,  fleecy  knitting  lay  on  her  satin  lap, 
and  the  small,  wrinkled  fingers  were  loaded  with  costly  bril- 
liants. 

"  Fairy  Magnificent,"  Waveney  named  her  when  she  was 
retailing  the  account  of  her  visit.  She  looked  up  with  a 
pleasant  smile,  and  pointed  to  a  chair.  "You  have  called  to 
see  my  niece,  Miss  Harford — oh  yes,  she  is  expecting  you,  but 
she  was  obliged  to  pay  a  business  visit ;  my  nieces  are  busy 
women,  Miss  Ward — perhaps  you  will  find  that  out  for  your- 
self some  day."  Waveney  began  to  feel  less  shy;  she  looked 
round  the  room  that  she  might  describe  it  properly  to  Mollie. 
How  Mollie  revelled  in  that  description  afterwards ;  it  was 
like  a  page  in  a  story  book — flowers  and  statues  and  palms, 
and  that  beautiful  old  lady  in  her  satin  gown. 

Fairy  Magnificent  was  evidently  fond  of  talking,  for  she 
rippled  on,  in  her  soft  voice,  like  a  little  purling  brook, 
knitting  all  the  time. 

"  Oh,  we  all  have  our  gifts,  my  dear,  but  I  am  afraid  in 
my  day  girls  were  terribly  worldly  ;  it  was  not  the  fashion  to 
cultivate  philanthropy  or  altruism,  as  they  call  it.  I  recollect 
a  young  man  asking  one  of  my  nieces  if  they  went  in  for 
'  slumming.'  I  wonder  what  we  should  have  thought  of  such 
a  question  when  I  was  young. ' ' 

"Does  Miss  Harford  do  that  sort  of  thing?"  asked  Wa- 
veney, with  something  of  her  old  animation.  She  was  such 
a  dear  little  old  lady — like  a  piece  of  Dresden  china. 

"Oh,  not  slumming  exactly — they  are  too  sensible  to  take 
up  every  passing  craze ;  but  they  do  an  immense  deal  of 
good.  They  have  a  Home  for  governesses  and  broken-down 
workers  very  near  them  at  Erpingham,  and  they  have  a  room 
in  the  garden  where  they  do  all  sorts  of  things.  They  have 
Thursday  evenings  for  shop-girls,  regular  social  evenings — 
tea,  and  music,  and  talk ;  and  the  girls  are  as  nicely  behaved 
as  possible." 

"  Oh,  what  a  grand  idea  !"  and  Waveney' s  eyes  began  to 
gleam  and  sparkle.  "I  have  always  been  so  sorry  for  shop- 
girls. I  think  they  have  such  a  hard,  pushing  sort  of  life. 
The  poor  things  are  often  so  tired,  but  they  have  to  look 
pleasant  all  the  same." 

Mrs.  Mainwaring  looked  amused  at  the  girl's  energy,  but 
before  she  could  reply  there  were  quick,  decided  footsteps  in 

4i 


Mollie's  Prince 

the  outer  room,  and  the  next  moment  a  tall,  dark  woman  in 
walking-dress  entered. 

When  Waveney  rose  from  her  chair,  the  lady  looked  at  her 
with  extreme  surprise. 

"Miss  Ward,  I  suppose;"  and  her  manner  was  a  little 
brusque.  "Please  sit  down  again,  and  I  will  speak  to  you 
directly.  Aunt  Sara,  may  I  have  the  carriage,  please.  Morris 
says  the  horses  are  quite  fresh.  I  find  the  letter  that  I  ex- 
pected is  at  the  Red  House,  so  it  will  be  better  for  me  to  talk 
it  all  over  with  Althea." 

"Do  as  you  like,  Doreen,"  returned  Mrs.  Mainwaring, 
tranquilly ;  "  but  you  must  attend  to  this  young  lady  first,  you 
know ;"  and  then  Miss  Harford  took  a  seat  near  Waveney. 

The  girl  was  suffering  from  a  sense  of  painful  disillusion. 
Mrs.  Mainwaring' s  talk  had  given  her  a  favourable  idea  of 
Miss  Harford,  but  when  she  saw  her,  her  first  thoughts  were 
"What  a  grievous  pity  that  such  a  good  woman  should  be 
so  plain!"  But  the  next  moment -she  added,  "Plain  is  too 
mild  a  term;  she  is  really  quite  ugly;"  and  it  could  not  be 
denied  that  Dame  Nature  had  treated  Miss  Harford  somewhat 
churlishly. 

Her  figure  was  angular,  and  a  little  clumsy,  and  not  even 
her  well-cut  tailor-made  tweed  could  set  it  off  to  advantage. 
Her  features  were  strongly  marked,  and  her  complexion  sal- 
low, and  her  low  forehead  and  heavy  eyebrows  gave  her  rather 
a  severe  look.  She  could  not  be  less  than  forty,  probably  a 
year  or  two  over  that,  but  there  was  no  affectation  of  youth, 
either  in  dress  or  manner. 

Perhaps  the  only  point  in  her  favour  was  a  certain  frank- 
ness and  sincerity  in  her  expression  that,  after  a  time,  ap- 
pealed to  people ;  and  yet  her  eyes  were  a  light,  cold  grey. 
Strangers  seldom  took  to  her  at  first — her  quick,  decided 
manners  were  rather  too  brusque,  and  then  her  voice  was  so 
harsh  and  deep  ;  but  they  soon  found  out  that  she  was  to  be 
trusted,  and  by-and-by  they  grew  to  love  her. 

Doreen  Harford  always  spoke  of  herself  as  the  "  ugly  duck- 
ling," who  would  never  change  into  a  swan  in  this  world. 

"  I  never  do  anything  by  halves,"  she  would  say,  laughing, 
and  her  laugh  was  as  fresh  and  ringing  as  a  child's,  though, 
perhaps,  a  little  hard.  "  I  am  as  ugly  as  they  make  them,  my 
dear," — for  she  was  too  happy  and  busy  a  woman  to  fret  over 
her  lack  of  beauty,  though  she  adored  it  whenever  she  found 
it,  and  petted  all  the  pretty  children  and  animals. 

42 


Fairy  Magnificent 


"There's  Aunt  Sara,"  she  would  go  on,  "  is  she  not  like 
one  of  Watteau's  Shepherdesses?  Did  you  ever  see  anything 
so  fine  and  pink  and  dainty  ? — and  she  is  seventy-three.  She 
has  had  lovers  by  the  score,  and  she  was  only  a  young  woman 
when  General  Mainwaring  died  ;  but  she  would  never  marry 
again,  bless  her !" 

When  Miss  Harford  sat  down  she  pulled  off  her  gloves  in 
rather  a  disturbed  manner. 

"  I  was  sorry  to  keep  you  waiting,  but  I  had  to  go  out  on 
urgent  business.  You  are  very  young,  Miss  Ward — younger 
than  I  expected,  and  than  Miss  Warburton  led  me  to  sup- 
pose." 

She  spoke  in  a  slightly  aggressive  voice,  as  though  Miss 
Ward  were  somehow  to  blame  for  her  youthful  aspect. 

"That  will  mend  in  time,  Doreen,  my  love,"  observed 
Mrs.  Mainwaring,  kindly.  "  I  think  Miss  Ward  seems  a  very 
sensible  young  lady."    And  then  Waveney  longed  to  hug  her. 

"I  am  nineteen,"  she  said,  looking  Miss  Harford  full  in 
the  face.  "That  is  not  so  very  young,  after  all;  and  I  have 
acted  as  secretary  to  a  lady  in  Cheyne  Walk.  It  was  only  a 
morning  engagement,  certainly,  but  Miss  Warburton  knows 
all  about  me,  and  she  thought  this  situation  would  just  suit 
me.  I  am  fond  of  reading  aloud,  and  I  never  get  tired, 
and " 

"  Doreen,  if  you  do  not  engage  this  young  lady,  I  think  I 
shall."  But  Mrs.  Mainwaring  was  only  joking,  as  her  niece 
knew  well,  for  it  would  have  been  more  than  her  life  was  worth 
to  do  such  a  thing. 

For  Fairy  Magnificent  had  a  faithful  maid  who  simply  wor- 
shipped her,  and  would  have  fought  any  woman  who  offered 
to  do  her  service.  Her  mistress  wanted  no  paid  companion 
as  long  as  she  was  in  the  house,  she  would  say ;  and  as  Rachel 
ruled  her  mistress — and,  indeed,  the  whole  household,  there 
was  little  probability  of  her  indulging  in  this  luxury. 

Miss  Harford's  face  brightened.  She  understood  the  pur- 
port of  her  aunt's  little  joke  :  she  liked  Miss  Ward,  and  wished 
her  niece  to  engage  her. 

"  Althea  will  not  mind  her  being  young,"  she  said,  signifi- 
cantly ;  and  then  Miss  Harford  turned  to  Waveney. 

"  Miss  Warburton  will  have  given  you  some  idea  of  the 
duties  required" — and  now  her  manner  had  decidedly  soft- 
ened. "  We  are  very  busy  people,  and  we  lead  two  lives,  the 
working  life  and  the  social  life ;  and  as  we  are  fairly  strong, 

43 


Mollie's  Prince 

we  manage  to  enjoy  both.  Unfortunately,  my  sister  has  had 
a  little  trouble  with  her  eyes  lately — the  doctors  say  it  is  on 
the  nerves.  Sometimes  when  she  reads  or  writes  she  has  pain 
in  them,  and  has  to  close  her  book,  or  shut  up  her  desk.  If 
she  were  to  persevere  the  pain  would  become  excruciating ;  it 
is  certainly  on  the  nerves,  for  sometimes  she  is  not  troubled 
at  all." 

"  I  understand,"  returned  Waveney,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Our  doctor  is  an  old  friend  and  a  very  sensible  man," 
continued  Miss  Harford,  "and  he  proposed  that  my  sister 
should  find  some  young  lady  with  a  good  voice  and  pleasant 
manner  who  would  read  to  her,  especially  in  the  evenings, 
when  nothing  is  going  on,  and  to  whom  she  could  dictate 
letters." 

"Oh,  I  am  sure  I  could  do  that,"  returned  Waveney, 
eagerly ;  and  then  Mrs.  Mainwaring  chimed  in  again. 

"My  dear,  I  am  an  old  woman,  so  you  may  believe  me. 
My  nieces  are  the  best  women  I  know,  and  they  make  every 
one  happy  at  the  Red  House. ' ' 

"Now,  Aunt  Sara,"  returned  Miss  Harford,  good  humour- 
edly,  "  how  are  Miss  Ward  and  I  to  understand  each  other  if 
you  will  keep  interrupting  us  ?  You  see,  Miss  Ward,  the  duties 
are  very  light,  and  you  will  have  plenty  of  time  to  yourself. 
We  want  some  one  young  and  cheerful  who  will  make  herself 
at  home  and  be  ready  for  any  little  service.    Are  you  musical  ?" 

"I  can  sing  a  little  but  my  voice  has  not  been  well 
trained." 

"  That  is  a  pity.  Now  should  you  mind  reading  us  a  page 
or  two?"  And  she  handed  her  a  novel  that  was  lying  open 
on  the  table. 

Waveney  flushed,  but  she  took  the  book  at  once.  For  the 
first  few  minutes  her  voice  trembled  ;  then  she  thought  of  the 
new  gown  she  wanted  to  buy  for  Mollie  at  Christmas,  and  then 
it  grew  steady. 

"Miss  Ward  reads  very  nicely,  does  she  not,  Aunt  Sara?" 
was  Miss  Harford's  approving  comment.  "I  think  Althea 
will  be  pleased."  Then  turning  to  Waveney  with  a  pleasant 
smile  that  lit  up  her  homely  features  as  sunshine  lights  up  a 
granite  rock,  "  I  really  see  no  reason  why  we  should  not  come 
to  terms.  I  do  not  know  what  we  ought  to  offer  you,  Miss 
Ward,  but  my  sister  thought  fifty  pounds  a  year. 

Waveney  gave  a  little  start  of  surprise.  The  terms  seemed 
magnificent. 

44 


Fairy  Magnificent 

"Oh,"  she  said,  impulsively,  "I  shall  be  able  to  help 
father.  What  happiness  that  will  be!"  And  then  her  face 
fell  a  little.  "  Will  you  tell  me,  please,  is  it  very  far  to 
Erpingham?" 

"  Do  you  mean  from  here?" 

"  No,  not  exactly.  I  am  thinking  of  my  own  home.  We 
live  in  Cleveland  Terrace,  Chelsea."  Then  Miss  Harford 
seemed  somewhat  taken  aback. 

"Is  your  father's  name  Everard  Ward?"  she  asked, 
abruptly. 

"Oh,  yes, — have  you  heard  of  him?"  returned  WTaveney, 
naively.  "  He  is  an  artist,  but  his  pictures  do  not  sell,  and 
he  has  only  his  drawing  lessons.  That  is  why  I  want  to  help 
him,  because  he  works  so  hard  and  looks  so  tired  ;  and  Mollie 
— that  is  my  sister— is  a  little  lame,  and  cannot  do  much." 

"Is  that  all  your  family?  You  do  not  speak  of  your 
mother." 

Miss  Harford  was  looking  at  the  girl  a  little  strangely. 

"She  is  dead,"  returned  Waveney,  in  a  low  voice;  "she 
died  when  Mollie  and  I  were  ten  years  old,  but  there  is  a 
young  brother,  Noel." 

Then  Miss  Harford  turned  to  her  aunt. 

"Aunt  Sara,  I  really  think  it  would  be  best  for  Althea  to 
see  Miss  Ward  herself.  You  know  I  have  to  drive  over  to 
Erpingham  now.  It  is  quite  early  in  the  afternoon,"  she 
continued,  looking  at  Waveney.  "  Can  you  not  come  with 
me  ?  We  shall  be  at  the  Red  House  in  three-quarters  of  an 
hour.  I  could  drop  you  at  Sloane  Square  station  by  seven. 
It  will  be  a  pleasant  drive,  and  the  evenings  are  still  light 
until  eight." 

Waveney  hesitated.  What  would  Mollie  say  to  her  long 
absence?  But  then,  her  father  never  returned  home  before 
eight  on  his  Norwood  days.  The  drive  tempted  her,  and 
then,  the  idea  of  seeing  Erpingham. 

"  If  you  are  sure  that  I  shall  be  back  by  seven,"  she  said ; 
and  then  Miss  Harford  rang  the  bell  and  ordered  the  carriage. 

"Althea  will  give  us  tea.  Come,  Miss  Ward."  And  then 
Mrs.  Wainwaring  held  out  her  soft,  little  hand  to  the  girl. 

"  Good-bye,  my  dear.  You  will  be  as  happy  as  a  bird  at 
the  Red  House.  Give  my  love  to  Althea,  Doreen,  and  tell 
her  to  rest  her  poor  eyes." 

Waveney  thought  of  Cinderella  and  the  pumpkin  coach  as 
she  stepped  into  the  luxurious  carriage.     The  novelty  of  the 

45 


Mollie's  Prince 

position,  the  enjoyment  of  the  swift,  smooth  motion,  and  the 
amusement  of  looking  out  at  the  crowded  street,  completely 
absorbed  her,  and  for  some  time  Miss  Harford  made  no 
attempt  to  draw  her  into  conversation 

But  presently  she  began  to  talk,  and  then  Waveney  found 
herself  answering  all  sorts  of  questions  about  herself  and 
Mollie — how  they  amused  themselves,  and  why  her  father's 
pictures  did  not  sell ;  and  then  Waveney,  who  was  very  girlish 
and  frank,  told  her  all  their  disappointment  about  "King 
Canute,"  and  Miss  Harford  listened  with  such  kindly  interest 
that  Waveney  felt  quite  grateful  to  her. 

"  Father  was  so  low  and  cast  down  about  it  last  night,  he 
said  he  should  never  have  the  heart  to  paint  a  picture  again, 
because  the  dealers  were  so  hard  on  him  ;  and  I  am  afraid  he 
meant  it,  too.  Oh,  what  a  nice  grey  church  !  And  actually, 
we  are  coming  to  a  river.  Oh,  how  picturesque  those  reddish- 
brown  sails  look  in  the  sunshine  !" 

"This  is  Dereham,"  returned  her  companion.  "It  is  not 
such  a  very  long  drive,  is  it?  In  little  more  than  ten  minutes 
we  shall  have  reached  our  destination ;"  and  then  she  began 
pointing  out  various  objects  of  interest — another  church,  the 
shops  in  High  Street  where  they  dealt,  then  a  high,  narrow 
house,  very  dull  and  gloomy-looking. 

"Some  dear  old  friends  of  ours  live  in  that  house,"  she 
said.  "It  is  not  very  inviting-looking,  is  it?  Once  they 
lived  in  such  a  beautiful  place,  until  old  Mr.  Chaytor  lost  his 
money.  I  am  always  so  sorry  for  them.  I  think  troubles  of 
this  kind  fall  very  heavily  on  some  natures." 

Waveney  assented  to  this,  but  the  subject  did  not  much  in- 
terest her.  They  had  left  Dereham  behind  now,  and  before 
them  lay  a  wide,  green  common,  with  pleasant  roads  inter- 
secting it.  A  little  clear  pool  by  the  roadside  rippled  in  the 
sunlight.  Near  it  was  a  broad,  grassy  space  shaded  by  trees. 
Two  or  three  nurses  sat  on  benches,  and  some  children  were 
dancing  hand  in  hand,  advancing  and  retreating,  and  singing 
in  shrill  little  voices.  "  Here  we  go  gathering  nuts  in  May," 
they  were  chanting,  and  then  one  child  fell  down  and  began 
to  cry.  Across  the  common  there  were  soft  blue  distances 
and  a  crisp  wind,  laden  with  the  perfumes  of  firs  and  black- 
berries, fanned  their  faces. 

Then  they  drove  through  some  white  gates.  A  lodge  and 
a  long,  shady  lane  were  before  them,  with  long,  parklike 
meadows  on  one  side.     It  was  all  so  sweet,  so  still,  and  peace- 

46 


Queen  Elizabeth's  Wraith 

ful,  in  the  evening  light,  that  Waveney  was  half  sorry  to  find 
that  their  journey  was  at  an  end ;  for  the  next  moment  the 
carriage  stopped,  and  the  lodge-keeper  opened  some  more 
gates,  curtsying  with  a  look  of  pleasure  when  she  saw  Miss 
Harford. 

"I  have  not  come  home  to  stay,  Mrs  Monkton,"  observed 
Miss  Harford,  with  a  friendly  nod,  and  then  the  horses  began 
frisking  down  a  winding  carriage  drive.  The  shrubbery  was 
thick,  but  every  now  and  then  Waveney  had  glimpses  of  little 
shut-in  lawns,  one  with  a  glorious  cedar  in  the  middle,  and 
another  with  a  sundial  and  peacock.  An  old  red  brick 
Elizabethan  house  was  at  the  end  of  the  drive,  with  a  long 
sunny  terrace  round  it. 

At  the  sound  of  the  wheels  two  little  Yorkshire  terriers  flew 
out  to  greet  their  mistress  with  shrill  barks  of  joy. 

"Oh,  what  pretty  little  fellows  !"  exclaimed  Waveney. 

"Yes,  they  are  great  pets.  Fuss  and  Fury,  that  is  what  we 
call  them,"  returned  Miss  Harford,  smiling,  "and  I  think 
you  will  allow  that  the  names  suit  them. ' ' 


CHAPTER  VI. 
queen  Elizabeth's  wraith. 

"...  Life  indeed  must  always  be  a  compromise  between  common 
sense  and  the  ideal, — the  one  abating  nothing  of  its  demands,  the  other 
accommodating  itself  to  what  is  practicable  and  real." — Amiel. 

As  they  entered  the  large  square  hall  with  Fuss  and  Fury 
frolicking  round  them,  a  tall  respectable-looking  woman  came 
forward  to  meet  them. 

"I  suppose  my  sister  is  in  the  library,  Mitchell?"  asked 
Miss  Harford,  quickly. 

"  Yes,  ma'am.      Parker  has  just  taken  in  the  tea." 

"Then  will  you  please  give  this  young  lady  some :  take  her 
into  my  room,  and  make  her  comfortable.  I  must  ask  you  to 
excuse  me  for  a  short  time,  Miss  Ward,  as  I  have  to  talk  over 
one  or  two  things  with  my  sister  j  but  Mitchell  will  look  after 
you." 

47 


Mollie's  Prince 

"  Oh,  please  do  not  trouble  about  me  !"  returned  Waveney ; 
and  then  she  followed  Mitchell  down  a  long  passage,  full  of 
beautiful  plants,  to  a  pleasant  sitting-room  with  a  deep  bay- 
window  overlooking  the  lawn  with  the  sundial;  the  peacock 
was  strutting  across  the  grass  with  the  mincing,  ambling  gait 
peculiar  to  that  bird,  the  peahen  following  him  more  meekly. 

Through  green  trellised  arches  one  looked  on  a  tennis  lawn, 
and  beyond  that  was  a  large  red  brick  cottage  with  a  porch. 
When  Mitchell  brought  in  the  tea-tray,  Waveney  asked  her 
who  lived  there.  The  woman  looked  a  little  amused  at  the 
question. 

"  No  one  lives  there,  ma'am,"  she  answered,  civilly.  "My 
mistresses  built  it,  for  their  winter  evening  entertainments. 
There  is  only  one  room,  with  a  sort  of  kitchen  behind  it. 
It  is  always  called  the  Porch  House." 

Waveney  longed  to  ask  some  more  questions,  but  Mitchell 
had  already  retired,  so  she  sat  down  and  enjoyed  her  tea. 

How  happy  she  could  be  in  this  lovely  place  if  only  Mollie 
were  with  her  !  And  then  she  thought  of  the  fifty  pounds  a 
year.  After  all,  Erpingham  was  not  so  far  away.  Perhaps 
they  would  let  her  go  home  once  a  week.  If  she  could  only 
have  her  Sunday  afternoons  and  evenings  to  herself!  And 
then  her  heart  began  to  beat  quickly.  How  delicious  that 
would  be  !  How  Mollie  and  she  would  talk  !  And  after  tea 
they  would  sing  their  old  hymns,  and  then  they  would  all  go 
to  church  together,  and  her  father  and  Noel  would  walk  to 
the  station  to  see  her  off.  And  then  she  wondered  if  she 
should  mind  the  long  walk  across  the  common ;  it  would  be 
rather  lonely,  she  thought,  on  a  dark  winter's  evening,  and 
perhaps  Miss  Harford  would  not  approve  of  it. 

While  Waveney  indulged  in  these  surmises  and  cogitations, 
Miss  Harford  had  walked  briskly  across  the  inner  hall,  and, 
tapping  lightly  at  a  door,  opened  it  and  entered  a  beautiful 
long  room  fitted  up  as  a  library.  It  had  a  grand  oriel  window, 
with  a  cushioned  seat,  and  a  tiny  inner  room  like  a  recess, 
with  a  glass  door  leading  to  the  lawn  with  the  cedar-tree. 

A  lady  writing  at  a  table  in  the  centre  of  the  room  uttered 
a  little  exclamation  of  surprise. 

"Why,  Doreen,  I  was  just  writing  to  you;  but  it  is  the 
unexpected  that  always  happens."  And  then  the  two  sisters 
kissed  each  other  affectionately. 

"You  can  put  away  your  letter  and  give  me  some  tea  in- 
stead," Doreen  said,  laughing;  and  then  Althea  smiled  and 

48 


Queen  Elizabeth's  Wraith 

walked  to  a  little  tea-table  that  had  been  placed  in  the  window, 
with  two  inviting-looking  easy  chairs  beside  it. 

"Sit  down,  Dorrie,  do,  and  tell  me  what  has  brought  you 
over  like  a  flash  of  lightning  on  a  summer  evening,"  she  said, 
as  she  took  up  the  tea-pot. 

Althea  Harford  was  a  better-looking  woman  than  her  sister, 
but  she  could  never  have  been  handsome.  She  was  very  tall, 
and  her  figure  was  decidedly  graceful ;  she  walked  well,  and 
carried  her  head  with  the  air  of  an  empress.  Her  eyes  were 
expressive  and  even  beautiful,  but  her  face  was  too  long  and 
thin,  and  her  reddish  auburn  hair  and  light  eyelashes  gave 
her  rather  a  colourless  look.  She  had  a  long,  aquiline  nose, 
and  some  people  said  that  she  reminded  them  of  Queen  Eliza- 
beth, though  it  may  be  doubted  whether  that  Tudor  princess 
had  Althea' s  air  of  refinement  and  gentleness. 

She  was  evidently  a  year  or  two  younger  than  her  sister, 
but  her  dress,  like  Doreen's,  was  very  sedate,  and  suitable  to 
her  age.  She  had  a  style  of  her  own,  which  certainly  suited 
her.  When  excited,  or  under  the  influence  of  some  strong 
emotion,  a  faint  pink  colour  would  come  to  her  cheeks,  and  a 
vivid  light  to  her  eyes ;  at  such  moments  she  would  be  almost 
beautiful. 

The  sisters  were  very  unlike  in  disposition ;  but  in  spite  of 
their  dissimilarity  they  were  the  best  of  friends,  and  under- 
stood each  other  perfectly. 

Doreen  took  life  more  lightly ;  she  had  a  robust  cheerful- 
ness that  seldom  failed  her.  Althea  had  a  greater  sense  of 
humour,  and  far  more  intellect ;  but  there  was  a  veiled  melan- 
choly about  her,  as  though  early  in  life  she  had  suffered  dis- 
illusion ;  and  she  would  speak  sometimes  as  though  human 
existence  were  a  comedy  where  the  players  wore  masks  and 
performed  the  shadow  dance  at  intervals. 

Both  sisters  were  Ladies  Bountiful,  and  gave  nobly  of  their 
substance,  but  Althea  could  never  be  brought  to  acknowledge 
that  she  gave  enough;  she  had  scruples  of  conscience,  and 
would  sometimes  complain  that  they  were  like  Dives,  and  had 
their  good  things  in  this  life. 

"  And  as  though  we  were  not  rich  enough,"  she  would  grum- 
ble, "Aunt  Sara  is  actually  going  to  leave  us  her  money" — 
for  Mrs.  Mainwaring  had  lately  made  another  will  in  her 
nieces'  favour.  Doreen  would  have  a  large  sum  of  money, 
but  Althea,  who  was  her  favourite,  would  be  the  chief  legatee, 
and  Althea  had  groaned  in  spirit  when  she  heard  it. 
4  49 


Mollie's  Prince 

"It  is  such  a  responsibility,"  she  sighed;  but  Doreen 
would  not  listen  to  this. 

"It  is  such  an  enjoyment,"  she  retorted.  "I  do  so  love 
spending  money,  and  so  do  you,  Althea,  in  spite  of  your 
grumbling.  And  as  to  Aunt  Sara's  will,  we  need  not  make 
ourselves  miserable  about  that,  for  she  will  probably  live  until 
she  is  ninety."  And  this  view  of  the  case  cheered  Althea 
greatly.  Althea' s  temperament  was  by  no  means  pessimistic, 
but  like  all  deep  thinkers  she  had  to  pay  the  penalty  of  her 
own  acute  perceptions.  The  unsolved  problems  of  life  sad- 
dened her,  and  at  times  disturbed  her  comfort.  She  envied 
Doreen  her  capacity  for  putting  troublesome  questions  out  of 
her  mind.  "I  wish  I  had  your  mind,  Dorrie,"  she  said 
once.  "It  is  such  a  comfortable,  nicely  padded  mind. 
When  disagreeable  things  happen,  you  just  let  down  your 
curtains  and  keep  yourself  snug." 

"Upon  my  word,  Althea,"  returned  Doreen,  good-hu- 
mouredly,  "  I  am  glad  no  one  but  myself  heard  that  speech. 
You  make  me  out  a  nice  selfish  sort  of  person." 

"  No,  no,  you  are  not  selfish  at  all,  you  are  far  more  ready 
to  help  people  than  I  am.  You  are  a  good  woman,  Doreen, 
and  you  know  I  did  not  mean  that. ' ' 

"  Then  what  did  your  riddle  mean  ?" 

"  Well,  just  what  I  said.  That  you  never  worry  and  fret 
yourself  over  troublesome  questions — social  questions,  I  mean, 
difficult  problems  that  meet  one  in  this  world  at  every  corner  ; 
I  often  make  myself  quite  unhappy  over  them,  and  go  to  bed 
with  a  heartache,  but  I  do  not  believe  that  you  ever  lose  an 
hour's  sleep  over  them." 

"I  daresay  not.  In  that  sense  I  suppose  I  have  a  nicely 
padded  mind ;  but,  Althea,  it  is  not  that  I  do  not  realise  the 
difficulty.  But,  my  dear  child,  what  is  the  good  of  sitting 
down  before  a  mountain  and  waiting  for  it  to  open.  Earth- 
quakes of  that  sort  won't  happen.  I  put  it  by  until  I  am 
grown  up  ;"  and  as  Althea  stared  at  her  she  nodded  her  head. 
"  Quite  grown  up,  I  mean  ;  we  are  only  children  here,  and  we 
are  not  likely  to  get  all  our  lessons  perfect."  And  then,  in  a 
low  voice,  she  said,  a  little  solemnly,  "  '  What  I  do  thou 
knowest  not  now,  but  thou  shalt  know  hereafter;'  "  and  as 
Doreen  said  this  her  plain,  homely  features  were  transfigured 
and  Althea  looked  at  her  with  reverence ;  for  in  her  simple 
faith  Doreen  had  passed  her  and  taken  the  higher  place. 

"Well,  Doreen,  what  has  brought  you  over  this  evening?" 

50 


Queen  Elizabeth's  Wraith 

asked  Althea,  as  she  handed  her  sister  a  cup  of  tea.  "  I  was 
thinking  of  driving  over  to-morrow  to  see  you  and  Aunt 
Sara. ' ' 

"Well,  I  wanted  to  see  you  about  two  or  three  things, 
Miss  Ward  amongst  them.  I  have  brought  her  over,  and  she 
is  at  present  partaking  of  tea  and  cake  in  my  room." 

"  Oh — do  you  think  she  will  do?"  asked  Althea,  quickly. 

"Well,  that  is  for  you  to  decide.  You  shall  see  her  pres- 
ently and  judge  for  yourself.  At  first  sight  I  confess  that  I 
was  not  favourably  impressed — she  is  such  a  childish-look- 
ing little  thing,  with  fluffy,  babyish  hair  curling  over  her 
head.  But  for  her  eyes,  and  expression,  I  should  never  have 
thought  her  grown  up.  She  is  rather  like  Laura  Ridgway,  only 
paler." 

"  Laura  has  very  pretty  eyes,  Doreen." 

"So  has  Miss  Ward;  they  are  quite  out  of  the  common. 
Aunt  Sara  took  rather  a  fancy  to  her. ' ' 

"Aunt  Sara  is  a  very  good  judge  of  character,"  her  sister 
observed. 

"  Well,  I  liked  her  better  myself  after  a  time ;  her  voice 
is  deep,  but  I  somehow  admire  it,  and  she  read  very  nicely. 
She  seems  anxious  to  come  to  us.  They  are  evidently  rather 
poor.  But "  Here  Doreen  hesitated  in  rather  an  em- 
barrassed way. 

"  Out  with  it,  Dorrie  :  there  is  something  behind,  I  see." 

"  Well,  it  is  for  you  to  judge.  I  shall  leave  the  decision 
in  your  hands.  I  think  Aunt  Sara  is  right,  and  that  Miss 
Ward  is  a  nice  little  thing;  but  she  is  Everard  Ward's 
daughter. ' ' 

Althea  started;  she  was  evidently  quite  unprepared  for 
this.  She  changed  colour  slightly.  "Are  you  sure  of  that, 
Doreen?"  she  asked,  in  a  low  voice.  "You  know  how  many 
Wards  there  are — dozens  and  dozens." 

"  Yes,  and  I  never  for  a  moment  imagined  that  it  could  be 
Everard's  daughter ;  but  directly  she  mentioned  her  address 
— Cleveland  Terrace,  Chelsea — of  course  I  recognised  her? 
Wait  a  minute" — as  Althea  seemed  inclined  to  interrupt  her 
— "let  me  make  it  all  clear  to  you.  I  put  the  question  to 
her,  '  Is  Everard  Ward  your  father?'  That  was  plain  enough, 
was  it  not  ?  And  when  she  said  yes,  I  managed  to  glean  two 
or  three  particulars,  that  we  already  know." 

"  Yes,  but  tell  me,  all  the  same  ;"  and  Althea' s  manner  was 
a  little  eager. 

5i 


Mollie's  Prince 

"Well,  she  told  me  that  her  mother  was  dead — we  knew 
that — and  that  she  had  a  twin  sister  who  was  rather  lame, 
and  a  brother  Noel."  Then,  at  the  mention  of  Noel's  name, 
Althea  looked  a  little  amused. 

"  What  a  strange  coincidence  !"  she  murmured. 

"  Strange  enough,  but  rather  embarrassing.  Miss  Ward 
was  very  naive  and  frank.  It  seems  the  poor  man  cannot  sell 
his  pictures;  he  has  one  on  hand  now.  'King  Canute,'  she 
called  it,  and  none  of  the  dealers  will  look  at  it.  She  says 
her  father  is  very  low  about  it,  and  that  they  want  the  money 
badly.  Well,  what  now,  Althea?"  pretending  to  frown  at 
her;  for  Althea' s  face  was  suffused  with  colour,  and  her  eyes 
were  very  bright. 

"Poor  Everard  !"  she  said,  softly.  "There  is  room  for 
another  picture  in  the  Porch  House."  And  then  a  queer 
little  smile  came  to  her  lips.  "  It  will  be  a  valuable  lesson  to 
the  girls." 

Then  Doreen  shook  her  head  at  her. 

"  It  could  not  be  done,  you  foolish  woman.  You  would 
be  found  out." 

"We  must  discover  another  way,  then,"  returned  Althea, 
who  was  quite  in  earnest.  "  Perhaps  Thorold  will  give  it 
house  room." 

"But  you  must  be  prudent,  dear." 

"I  will  be  discretion  itself.  The  picture  will  not  be  pur- 
chased in  my  name,  you  can  depend  on  that.  I  begin  to 
think  my  nature  is  not  straightforward,  I  do  so  love  little 
plots,  and  underhand  schemes.  I  should  have  made  a  good 
secret  conspirator.  Now  about  this  girl :  if  she  pleases  me, 
I  can  see  no  objection  to  our  engaging  her.  It  is  perfectly 
simple,  Dorrie ;  they  are  poor,  and  the  girls  have  to  work. 
Fate,  or  rather — for  it  is  no  joking  matter — Providence,  has 
brought  her  to  us.  Is  it  too  superstitious  to  say  that  I  feel 
that  I  dare  not  refuse  to  take  her.  It  may  be  another  way  of 
helping  them." 

"Yes,  but  in  my  opinion  Everard  ought  to  know  to  whom 
he  is  sending  her." 

"Ah,  I  agree  with  you  there,  in  spite  of  my  subterranean 
and  complicated  schemes.  I  did  not  propose  any  fresh  mas- 
querade, as  far  as  the  girl  is  concerned.  I  am  willing  to  be 
as  open  as  the  day.  Now,  as  we  have  finished  tea,  shall  I  go 
to  your  room?"     And  Doreen  smiled  assent. 

Waveney  was  standing   by  the  window,   crumbling  some 

52 


Queen  Elizabeth's  Wraith 

sweet-cake  for  the  peacock.  She  turned  round  at  the  sound 
of  the  opening  door. 

The  evening  sun  was  shining  into  the  room,  and  perhaps 
the  light  dazzled  Waveney  a  little ;  but  certainly  she  gave  a 
very  droll  description  of  Althea  to  Mollie  afterwards. 

"  The  door  opened,  and  a  very  tall  woman  in  a  grey  gown 
seemed  to  glide  in,  for  she  walked  so  quietly  that  I  could  not 
hear  a  footstep;  and  lo  and  behold,  it  was  Queen  Elizabeth's 
Wraith." 

"  Oh,  Waveney,  what  nonsense !  And  I  do  hate  that 
horrid  old  Elizabeth." 

"  Well,  so  do  I ;  but,  all  the  same,  Miss  Harford  is  remark- 
ably like  her — such  a  long,  thin  face  and  nose,  and  reddish 
hair ;  and  she  had  a  sort  of  ruff  of  lace  round  her  throat,  and 
such  a  stately  manner,  it  was  quite  queenly.  And,  I  think, 
really,  that  I  should  have  made  my  curtsy,  only  she  came  up 
to  me  in  the  kindest  way  and  took  my  hand.  '  I  am  so  sorry 
that  you  have  been  alone  all  this  time,'  she  said,  in  such  a 
sweet  voice,  '  but  my  sister  and  I  had  so  much  business  to 
discuss.  She  has  told  me  all  about  you,  so  I  am  not  going  to 
trouble  you  with  needless  questions.  You  can  just  tell  me 
anything  you  like  about  yourself.  I  have  a  great  respect  for 
workers,  and  always  love  to  help  them.'  " 

"  It  was  nice  of  her  to  say  that." 

"  Yes  ;  it  quite  won  my  heart.  I  like  both  the  Miss  Har- 
fords,  Mollie ;  but  Miss  Althea — or  Queen  Bess,  as  I  prefer  to 
call  her — is  more  to  my  taste.  She  interested  me  directly, 
and  we  had  such  a  nice  talk,  just  as  though  we  were  old 
friends ;  and  she  said  at  once  that  I  could  have  my  Sunday 
afternoons — think  of  that,  sweetheart  !  I  shall  be  with  you 
every  Sunday." 

Althea' s  sympathetic  nature  had  at  once  grasped  the  girl's 
trouble  at  leaving  home. 

"  I  think  I  could  arrange  for  you  to  spend  the  greater  part 
of  your  Sundays  at  home,"  she  observed,  "that  is,  if  you  are 
a  good  walker,  for  we  never  use  our  horses  on  Sundays,  unless 
the  weather  is  very  bad.  We  dine  early,  for  I  always  have  a 
busy  afternoon  in  the  Porch  House,  and  I  could  spare  you 
easily." 

"  But  the  long  walk  back  in  the  dark,"  faltered  Waveney, 
who  knew  well  that  her  father  would  make  objections  to  this. 
Then  Althea  considered  the  point. 

"  Yes,  you  are  right.     You  could  not  walk  alone  on  dark 

53 


Mollie's  Prince 

evenings,  and  the  winter  is  coming.  There  are  houses,  of 
course,  but  they  stand  so  far  back,  and  the  gates  are  locked. 
Oh,  no,  my  dear,  that  would  never  do.  Neither  my  sister 
nor  I  could  permit  you  to  walk  alone."  Then  her  face 
brightened,  and  she  continued  with  more  animation,  "  I  have 
an  idea.  My  maid  Peachy  always  goes  to  see  her  mother  on 
Sunday  afternoons ;  she  lives  near  Victoria,  and  she  always 
takes  the  same  train  back.  We  will  find  out  which  that  is, 
and  then  you  can  walk  up  the  hill  together."  At  this  the 
girl's  joy  was  so  evident  that  Althea  had  been  quite  touched. 

Just  at  the  close  of  the  interview  she  had  said  a  few  words 
that  greatly  surprised  Waveney. 

"  And  now,  my  dear,  I  should  like  you  to  go  home  and 
talk  things  over  with  your  people,  and  then  you  can  write  me 
a  line  saying  whether  you  wish  to  come  to  us.  We  must  not 
decide  things  finally  until  your  father  gives  his  consent.  He 
will  know  our  names."  And,  as  Waveney  seemed  puzzled  at 
this,  "  When  we  were  young  he  visited  at  our  house.  Oh, 
not  here;  we  lived  in  Surrey  then." 

"  But  when  shall  you  want  me,"  asked  Waveney,  anxiously. 
"  Oh,  I  am  sure  father  will  give  his  consent.  He  is  dread- 
fully unhappy  at  the  idea  of  our  working,  but  he  knows  it 
must  be  done." 

"  Still  you  must  consult  him,"  returned  Althea,  gently,  and 
her  manner  was  a  little  stately.  "As  for  my  wanting  you,  I 
shall  be  content  if  you  could  come  to  me  in  about  ten  days. 
Now  I  hear  the  carriage  coming  round.  Good-bye.  I  think 
I  will  add  au  revoir /"  and  then  she  shook  hands  very  cordially, 
and  the  next  moment  Doreen  joined  them. 

There  was  very  little  conversation  during  the  drive  back. 
Miss  Harford  was  busy  with  her  letters  and  note-book,  and 
Waveney  leaned  back  on  the  cushions,  and  thought  over  her 
talk  with  Althea. 

"  How  strange  that  father  should  have  known  them  !"  she 
said  to  herself.  "  He  often  talks  of  his  old  friends,  but  he 
has  never  mentioned  their  name.  Harford — no,  I  am  sure  I 
never  heard  it  until  Miss  Warburton  spoke  of  them.  If  I 
go  anywhere  it  shall  be  to  the  Red  House — I  have  made  up 
my  mind  to  that.  I  like  both  of  them — they  are  different 
somehow  from  other  people ;  but  I  like  Queen  Bess  far  the 
best." 


54 


A  Humourist  and  an  Idealist 
CHAPTER  VII. 

A   HUMOURIST   AND   AN    IDEALIST. 

"  The  world  was  very  guilty  of  such  a  ballad  some  three  ages  since ; 
but,  I  think,  now  'tis  not  to  be  found." 

Love's  Labour's  Lost. 

"  A  merrier  man, 
Within  the  limits  of  becoming  mirth, 
I  never  spent  an  hour's  talk  withal." 

Act  LI. 

While  Waveney  was  doing  her  very  best  to  make  a  favour- 
able impression  on  the  Misses  Harford,  an  interview  of  a  far 
different  character  was  taking  place  at  Number  Ten,  Cleve- 
land Terrace. 

Mollie,  who  was  conscientious  and  strictly  truthful,  having 
been  taught  from  childhood  to  abhor  the  very  whitest  of  white 
lies,  was  trying  laboriously  to  carry  out  a  certain  programme 
drawn  up  by  Waveney.  She  was  not  to  cry  or  to  think  of 
anything  disagreeable,  and  she  was  only  to  look  at  the  clock 
twice  in  an  hour,  and  there  was  no  need  for  her  either  to  be 
always  standing  on  the  balcony  and  straining  her  eyes  after 
every  passer-by.  It  was  sheer  waste  of  time,  and  it  would  be 
far  better  to  finish  one  of  her  pretty  menu-cards ;  and  Mollie, 
who  was  docile  and  tractable,  had  agreed  to  this. 

"It  shall  have  a  spray  of  golden  brown  chrysanthemums," 
she  said,  quite  cheerfully ;  and  when  Waveney  left  the  house 
she  arranged  her  painting- table  and  selected  the  flowers  from 
Corporal  Mark's  nosegay. 

But,  alas! 

"  The  best-laid  schemes  of  mice  and  men 
Gang  aft  agley." 

Scarcely  had  Mollie  wetted  her  brush  before  Ann  the  heavy- 
footed  came  up  with  an  inflamed  face  and  red  eyes. 

"The  pain  was  horrible,"  as  she  expressed  it,  "and  was 
not  to  be  borne.  Would  Miss  Mollie  spare  her  for  half  an 
hour,  and  she  would  get  Mr.  Grainger's  young  man  to  pull  the 
tooth  out?" 

55 


Mollie's  Prince 

"Oh  yes,  Ann,  certainly,"  returned  Mollie,  who  was  ten- 
der-hearted. But  when  Ann  had  withdrawn  with  a  snorting 
sob,  she  mused  with  some  perplexity  over  all  the  ills  to  which 
maids-of-all-work  were  liable. 

Ann  had  looked  so  strong  when  they  had  engaged  her,  and 
yet  she  was  always  complaining  of  something.  She  was  ad- 
dicted to  heavy  colds  in  her  head,  and  to  a  swollen  face, 
sometimes  diversified  by  an  earache.  She  was  a  good-tem- 
pered, willing  creature,  but  her  infirmities  were  great,  and 
more  than  once  Waveney  had  advised  Mollie  to  send  her  away. 

"  But  she  is  so  honest,"  Mollie  would  plead,  "  and  she  is  so 
devoted  to  Mrs.  Muggins,"  and  so  Ann  had  been  suffered  to 
remain.  Noel  took  her  off  to  the  life.  He  would  tie  up  his 
face  with  a  wisp  of  flannel  and  sit  hugging  the  cat  for  ten 
minutes  at  a  time. 

"Was  it  a  poorty  leddy,  then,  and  did  she  want  the  poor 
little  chickabiddies?"  Ann  would  choke  with  suppressed 
laughter  when  she  came  in  to  lay  the  table.  "  Ain't  it  natural, 
Miss  Mollie?  and  it  is  just  what  I  did  say  to  Mrs.  Muggins." 

Mollie  was  studying  the  chrysanthemum  pensively  when 
Annie  put  her  head  in  again. 

"The  fire  must  not  get  low,  Miss  Mollie,  because  of  the 
cake." 

Then  Mollie  jumped  up  in  dismay. 

Ann  was  going  out,  and  leaving  that  precious  cake — Noel's 
birthday  cake — and  it  was  such  a  nice  one  !  She  had  made  it 
herself,  and  it  had  beautiful  pink-and-white  icing  on  the  top. 
That  her  cake  should  be  spoilt  was  a  thought  not  to  be  en- 
dured for  a  moment.  She  knew  what  Ann's  fires  were— black, 
smoky  concerns.  As  Mollie  rushed  into  the  kitchen  the  front 
door  bell  rang,  and  Ann,  with  her  hat  on,  admitted  a  visitor. 

"A  gentleman,  Miss  Mollie,  and  I  have  shown  him  up  in 
the  studio."  But  Mollie,  whose  face  was  in  the  oven,  did  not 
hear  this  ;  her  whole  attention  was  absorbed  by  her  cake — 
menu  cards  were  forgotten.  She  stirred  the  fire,  put  on  coals, 
and  then  sat  down  on  the  rug  to,  watch  the  oven. 

Meanwhile,  the  visitor  walked  briskly  into  the  studio.  He 
was  a  small,  dark  man,  and  his  dress  was  somewhat  Bohemian  ; 
he  had  a  brown  velveteen  coat,  and  a  yellow  rose  in  his  button- 
hole, and  he  had  bright,  clear  eyes,  that  saw  everything  worth 
seeing,  and  a  good  deal  that  ordinary  folk  failed  to  see — not 
that  people  always  found  this  out.  He  had  plenty  of  time  for 
observation,  and  when  he  had  grown  a  little  weary  of  his  soli- 

56 


A  Humourist  and  an  Idealist 

tude,  he  made  a  tour  of  the  room.  He  stood  for  some  time 
by  Mollie's  painting  table.  The  menu  cards  struck  him  as 
very  pretty  and  graceful  in  their  design. 

"My  good  little  Samaritan  is  artistic,  I  see,"  he  said  to 
himself;  "but  there  was  no  need  for  her  to  put  on  her  best 
frock  because  a  stranger  called.  But  vanity  and  women  are 
synonomous  terms."  And  after  this  atrocious  sentiment — 
which  all  women  would  utterly  repudiate — he  looked  curiously 
at  a  framed  picture  standing  on  the  floor. 

"  '  Canute  and  his  Courtiers.'  Yes,  I  see  ;  rather  stale,  that 
sort  of  thing.  '  Canute'  decidedly  wooden,  ambitious,  but 
amateurish — wants  force  and  expression. ' '  And  then  he  shook 
his  head.  "  Hulloa,  what  have  we  here?"  and  he  stepped  up 
to  the  easel. 

It  was  a  roughly  executed  sketch  in  crayon  and  was  evidently 
a  boy's  work;  but  in  spite  of  considerable  crudeness,  it  was 
not  without  spirit. 

A  young  lady  was  stepping  down  from  an  omnibus,  and  a 
queer  little  man  in  a  peaked  hat,  and  a  huge  moustache,  was 
handing  her  out.  He  was  grinning  from  ear  to  ear,  and  in  his 
other  hand  was  a  sixpence. 

"Your  eternally  obliged  Monsieur  Blackie,"  was  written 
under  the  picture. 

The  visitor  seemed  puzzled  ;  then  a  light  dawned.  Finally 
he  threw  hack  his  head  and  laughed  aloud.  "We  have  a 
humourist  here,"  he  said  to  himself;  and  to  restore  his  gravity, 
he  began  walking  up  and  down  the  room ;  but  every  time  he 
passed  the  easel  he  laughed  again.  "This  is  clearly  not  my 
little  Samaritan,"  he  said  to  himseif.  He  had  brought  in  a 
beautiful  bouquet,  and  had  laid  it  down  on  the  round  table. 
Every  few  minutes  he  took  it  up  and  looked  at  the  door. 

The  household  was  certainly  a  peculiar  one.  An  extraordi- 
nary young  female,  with  her  face  tied  up  in  flannel,  had  shown 
him  upstairs  after  telling  him  that  Miss  Ward  was  in.  He  had 
been  waiting  nearly  twenty  minutes.  Should  he  ring  the  bell  ? 
But  there  was  no  bell — not  a  semblance  of  one.  Then  he 
thought  he  would  leave  the  flowers  and  the  sixpense,  with 
his  card.  Yes,  perhaps  that  would  be  best.  And  then 
he  hesitated.  It  was  very  absurd,  but  he  rather  wanted  to 
see  the  little  girl  again  ;  there  was  something  so  bright  and 
piquant  about  her.  Perhaps  she  was  keeping  out  of  the  way 
on  purpose.  Perhaps  Monsieur  Blackie — and  here  he  laughed 
afresh — was  not  to  her  taste.     No  sooner  did  this  idea  come 

57 


Mollie's  Prince 

into  his  head  than,  with  manlike  perversity,  he  determined  to 
persevere. 

He  walked  downstairs  and  into  the  dining-room.  Here 
fresh  amusement  awaited  him  in  the  inscription,  "  Noel  Ward, 
his  Study." 

"  My  friend  the  humourist  again,"  he  said  softly;  and  then 
he  pricked  up  his  ears,  for  in  some  back  premises  he  could  dis- 
tinctly hear  a  very  clear,  sweet  girlish  voice.  He  stole  into 
the  passage  to  listen. 

And  this  is  what  he  heard  : — 

"  Here's  to  the  maiden  of  bashful  fifteen ; 
Here's  to  the  widow  of  fifty; 
Here's  to  the  flaunting  extravagant  queen 
And  here's  to  the  housewife  that's  thrifty, 
Let  the  toast  pass; 
Drink  to  the  lass — 
I'll  warrant  she  prove  an  excuse  for  the  glass." 

"  School  for  Scandal"  muttered  the  stranger.  "A  very 
good  song  and  very  well  sung.  I  should  like  to  clap.  Let  me 
see  :  that  is  what  they  used  to  do  in  the  Arabian  Nights  enter- 
tainment— clap  hands,  enter  beautiful  Circassian  slave,  with  a 
golden  dish  full  of  jewelled  fruits.  I  will  knock  instead  at  the 
mysterious  portal." 

"Oh,  is  that  you,  Ann!"  exclaimed  a  voice,  cheerfully. 
"However  did  you  get  in?  Fetch  me  some  coals,  please. 
And  oh,  I  forgot  your  poor  tooth.     Was  it  very  bad  ?" 

"  Pardon  me,"  observed  the  young  man,  hurriedly.  Then, 
at  the  strange  voice,  Mollie  turned  round. 

Once,  many  years  ago  in  a  foreign  gallery,  Ingram  had 
stood  for  a  long  time  before  a  little  picture  that  had  capti- 
vated his  fancy ;  it  was  the  work  of  an  English  artist,  and  a 
very  promising  one,  and  was  entitled  "  Cinderella."  A  little 
workhouse  drudge  was  sitting  on  a  stool  in  the  chimney  corner 
of  a  dark  underground  kitchen  ;  a  black,  cindery  fire  was  cast- 
ing a  dull  glow ;  a  thin  tabby  cat  was  trying  to  warm  itself. 
The  torn,  draggled  frock  and  grimy  hands  of  the  little  maid- 
of-all-work  were  admirably  rendered,  but  under  the  tangled 
locks  a  pair  of  innocent  child's  eyes  looked  wistfully  out. 
A  story  book,  with  the  page  opened  at  Cinderella,  lay  on  the 
lap. 

Ingram  thought  of  this  picture  as  Mollie  turned  her  head 
and  looked  at  him,  and,  man  of  the  world  as  he  was,  for  the 
moment  words  failed  him. 

58 


A  Humourist  and  an  Idealist 

He  was  standing  in  a  dull  little  kitchen — a  mere  slip  of  a 
place — looking  out  on  a  long  straggling  garden,  very  narrow, 
and  chiefly  remarkable  for  gooseberry-and-currant  bushes; 
and  sitting  on  the  rug  in  front  of  the  fire,  like  a  blissful  sala- 
mander, was  a  girl  with  the  most  beautiful  face  that  he  had 
ever  seen. 

Then  poor  Mollie,  blushing  like  a  whole  garden  full  of 
roses  in  her  embarrassment,  scrambled  awkwardly  to  her  feet. 

"  Oh,  dear  !  I  thought  it  was  our  Ann.  Will  you  tell  me 
your  name,  please  ?  Father  is  out,  and  we  do  not  expect  him 
home  until  eight." 

"My  business  was  with  your  sister,"  returned  Ingram,  re- 
gaining his  self-possession  as  he  saw  the  girl's  nervousness. 
"  Your  servant  let  me  in  exactly  five-and-twenty  minutes  ago, 
and  as  I  thought  the  household  was  asleep  I  was  endeavouring 
to  discover  a  bell ;  and  then  I  heard  singing, — 

"  '  Let  the  toast  pass ; 
Drink  to  the  lass,' 

Awfully  good  song  that." 

"  Oh,  dear,"  faltered  Mollie — she  would  have  liked  to  sink 
through  the  floor  at  that  moment,  to  avoid  that  bright,  quizzi- 
cal glance  ;  "  that  was  father's  song,  not  mine.  Oh,  I  know 
now  who  you  are.  You  are  the  gentleman  whose  pocket  was 
picked  yesterday." 

"Exactly.  Monsieur  Blackie,  at  your  service;"  and  then 
Mollie  turned  cold  with  dismay.  Ann  had  let  him  in,  and 
he  had  been  in  the  studio,  and  Noel's  absurd  sketch  was  on 
the  easel.  He  had  recognised  himself.  And  Mollie's  con- 
fusion and  misery  were  so  great  that  in  another  minute  she 
would  have  disgraced  herself  for  ever  by  bursting  into  tears ; 
only  Ingram,  fearing  he  had  taken  too  great  a  liberty,  hast- 
ened to  explain  matters. 

"  You  see,  Miss  Ward,  I  was  anxious  to  pay  my  debts,  and 
thank  your  sister.  If  I  remember  rightly,  I  told  her  that  I 
should  call." 

"  Oh,  yes;  at  least,  Waveney  was  not  sure  that  you  would, 
and  she  had  to  go  out. ' ' 

"I  should  like  to  have  seen  her.  Perhaps  another  time 
you  will  allow  me ' '     Ingram  reddened  and  hesitated. 

"  She  may  not  be  long.  She  has  gone  to  Berkeley  Square 
on  business.  Ah,"  as  the  bell  rang,  "that  is  Ann,  so  please 
will  you  go  upstairs. ' ' 

59 


Mollie's  Prince 

Mollie  was  not  quite  equal  to  the  situation  ;  she  wanted  to 
get  rid  of  Monsieur  Blackie,  but  he  did  not  seem  inclined  to 
go ;  and  Ingram  took  a  mean  advantage  of  her  inexperience. 

"  I  have  left  my  hat  upstairs,"  he  said,  hypocritically,  "  and 
there  are  some  flowers  which  I  brought  for  your  sister,  and  I 
think  they  ought  to  be  put  in  water. ' '  This  appealed  at  once 
to  Mollie. 

"Oh,  certainiy,"  she  said;  and  as  she  limped  down  the 
passage  before  him,  a  pained  look  came  in  Ingram's  eyes. 

"  Oh,  what  a  grievous  pity,"  he  thought,  "  that  lovely  face 
to  be  allied  with  such  a  cruel  infirmity." 

"Oh,  what  flowers!"  exclaimed  Mollie,  burying  her  face 
in  them  ;"  and  then  she  glanced  at  the  card  shyly.  "  Moritz 
Ingram."  What  a  nice  name  !  Yes,  he  was  rather  nice,  too. 
In  spite  of  his  droll  looks,  she  liked  his  voice ;  but,  all  the 
same,  if  he  would  only  go !  He  ought  to  go — and  Ingram 
evidently  shared  this  opinion,  for  he  was  hunting  sedulously 
for  his  hat ;  and  as  his  efforts  were  unavailing,  Mollie  was 
obliged  to  go  to  his  help. 

"I  brought  it  upstairs,"  he  kept  saying.  "'Manners 
makye  man,'  and  I  was  always  remarkable  for  my  good  man- 
ners. Why,  even  your  sister  took  me  for  a  Frenchman." 
And  at  this  Mollie  broke  into  a  merry  laugh,  and  Ingram's 
eyes  twinkled  sympathetically. 

The  next  minute  the  door-bell  rang  again,  and  Mollie,  who 
had  just  discovered  the  hat  underneath  the  sofa — though  how 
it  got  there,  no  one  knew — was  just  going  to  dart  to  the  door, 
when  a  cracked  voice  called  out,  "Cat's  meat!"  and  the 
faint  mewing  of  Mrs.  Muggins  was  clearly  audible  in  the 
distance  and  then  Noel  strolled  in.  He  looked  at  Ingram  in 
unfeigned  amazement ;  then,  being  an  acute  lad,  he  grinned. 

"  Noel,  this  is  Mr.  Ingram,  the  gentleman  Waveney  saw  in 
the  omnibus  yesterday." 

"I  recognised  myself,"  returned  Ingram,  with  an  airy 
wave  of  the  hand  towards  the  picture,  "though  perhaps  it  is 
not  a  speaking  likeness — a  sort  of  cross  between  Mephistophiles 
and  Daniel  Quilp,  with  perhaps  a  soupfon  of  the  Artful 
Dodger.  I  prefer  to  sit  for  my  own  portrait,  don't  you 
know." 

Then  Noel  grinned  again,  rather  sheepishly.  For  once  he 
was  reaping  the  just  reward  of  his  impudence. 

"You  are  a  humourist,  my  young  friend,"  continued  In- 
gram, blandly.     "  I  am  an  Idealist.      All  my  life — and  I  am 

60 


A  Humourist  and  an  Idealist 

exactly  thirty  seven— I  have  been  seeking  'the  impossible 
she.'  That  does  not  mean"  (interrupting  himself,  as  though 
he  feared  to  be  misunderstood )  "any  individual  woman.  Oh 
dear,  no;  originality  is  my  favourite  fetish." 

Mollie  looked  bewildered,  but  she  was  rather  impressed  by 
this  fine  flow  of  words,  but  Noel's  eyes  brightened.  "Was 
this  not  a  man  and  a  brother  ?' ' 

"  Women  don't  understand  that  sort  of  thing,"  he  observed, 
confidentially;  "they  never  laugh  at  the  right  jokes  unless 
you  label  them  ;"  and  here  Noel  threw  up  his  head  and  cocked 
his  chin.  "That  is  why  I  have  taken  to  drawing— a  picture 
pleases  the  poor  things,  and  the  funnier  you  make  it,  the 
more  they  like  it." 

"  Indeed  ! ' '  remarked  Ingram,  mildly.  And  then  he  looked 
at  the  handsome  lad  with  unfeigned  approval.  "It  is  for 
your  sister's  benefit  that  you  do  these  clever  sketches?  I  am 
an  artist  myself— an  embryo  artist,  I  ought  to  say,  for  I  have 
never  sold  a  picture — but  I  recognise  a  brother  in  the  art." 

Then  Noel,  who  detected  irony  in  the  smooth  voice,  looked 
a  little  sulky. 

"It  is  not  clever  a  bit,"  he  growled;  "it  is  beastly  rot. 
I  did  it  to  get  a  rise  out  of  Waveney — Waveney  is  the  other 
one,  you  know." 

"Did  you  say  Waveney?  I  never  recollect  hearing  the 
name  before." 

"  No.  It  is  a  queer  sort  of  name.  Father  had  a  great- 
aunt  Waveney.  When  I  want  something  short  and  handy, 
don't  you  know,  I  call  her  Storm-and -stress." 

"Upon  my  word,  Miss  Ward,  your  brother  is  _ perfectly 
dangerous.  If  I  stay  here  any  longer  I  shall  take  the  infection. 
I  told  you  my  special  and  particular  fetish  was  originality.  I 
seem  to  have  met  it  here.  Thank  you"— as  Mollie  meekly 
handed  him  his  hat—"  I  have  trespassed  on  your  kind  hospi- 
tality far  too  long  already.  With  your  kind  permission  I  will 
call  again,  in  the  hope  of  seeing  your  sister." 

"What  could  I  say?"  asked  Mollie,  anxiously,  when  she 
related  the  account  of  the  afternoon.  The  sisters  were  safely 
shut  up  in  their  own  room — a  large  front  room  over  the 
studio.  Mr.  Ward  slept  in  the  little  room  behind.  "  I  could 
not  say,  <  No,  please  do  not  come,  I  am  sure  Waveney  does 
not  want  to  see  you ! '  " 

"Why  no,  of  course  not.  You  did  quite  right,  Mollie 
dear.     Did  not  dad  say  he  showed  his  gratitude  in  a  very 

61 


Mollie's  Prince 

gentlemanly  way.  And  as  for  Noel,  he  has  been  talking 
about  him  all  the  evening." 

"  Yes,  Noel  took  a  fancy  to  him;  and  Wave,  I  do  think 
he  must  be  nice ;  he  says  droll  things  in  a  soft,  sleepy  sort  of 
voice,  and  I  am  afraid  I  was  rather  stupid  and  did  not  always 
understand  ;  but  his  eyes  looked  kind  and  gentle.  I  was  not 
afraid  of  him  after  the  first  few  minutes." 

"  Poor  little  Moll.  Well,  it  was  rather  embarrassing  to  have 
to  interview  a  live  stranger  all  alone,  and  in  the  kitchen  too  !" 
— for  Mollie  had  drawn  a  highly  colored  and  graphic  de- 
scription of  her  first  meeting  with  Monsieur  Blackie. 

Waveney  had  laughed  mercilessly  at  first. 

"  Mollie  Ward  enacting  the  part  of  Cinderella  or  Cinder 
Maiden — enter  the  Black  Prince  with  the  glass  slipper.  Mol- 
lie, dear,  I  grieve  to  say  it,  but  your  feet  are  not  as  pretty  as 
mine;"  and  Waveney,  who  was  excited  with  her  eventful 
day,  kicked  off  her  shoes,  and  began  dancing  in  the  moon- 
light, her  tiny  feet  scarcely  touching  the  floor. 

And  behold  the  spirit  of  mischief  was  in  her ;  for,  as  Mollie 
sat  on  the  bed  and  watched  her  with  admiring  eyes,  she  sud- 
denly broke  into  a  song ;  and  this  is  what  she  sang  : 

"  Here's  to  the  maiden  of  bashful  fifteen, 
Here's  to  the  widow  of  fifty, 
Here's  to  the  flaunting,  extravagant  quean, 
And  here's  to  the  housewife  that's  thrifty. 
Let  the  toast  pass, 
Drink  to  the  lass, 
I'll  warrant  she'll  prove  an  excuse  for  the  glass." 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

mollie's  baby-house. 

**  Within  'tis  all  divinely  fair, 

No  care  can  enter  my  retreat; 
'Tis  but  a  castle  in  the  air, 

But  you  and  I  are  in  it,  sweet." 

Helen  Marion  Burnside. 

It  is  necessary  to  retrace  our  steps  a  little ;  for  it  was  not 
until  much  later  that  Waveney  executed  her  pas-de-seul  in  the 
moonlight.  Miss  Harford  had  kept  her  word,  and  Waveney 
was  deposited  at  Sloane  Street  Station  punctually  at  seven ; 

62 


Mollie's  Baby-House 

and  before  the  quarter  had  struck  she  was  walking  quickly  up 
Cleveland  Terrace.  Mollie,  whose  state  of  mind  by  this 
time  baffled  description,  was  on  the  balcony  watching  for  her, 
and  had  the  door  opened  before  Waveney  was  at  the  gate ;  a 
few  hurried  questions  and  answers  had  been  interchanged, 
and  then  they  had  heard  their  father's  latchkey  in  the  door. 

"  Oh,  dear  !  oh,  dear  !  Why  is  father  so  dreadfully  early, 
this  evening  ?' '  exclaimed  Mollie,  in  a  lamentable  voice. 

"  Never  mind,"  returned  Waveney,  philosophically.  "  We 
must  just  wait  until  bed-time;  and  then  won't  we  make  a 
night  of  it,  Moll?" 

"But  father  will  hear  us,  and  rap  on  the  wall,"  observed 
Mollie,  fretfully,  "and  tell  us  to  go  to  sleep  like  good  chil- 
dren." 

"  Oh,  no,  he  won't,  if  we  curl  ourselves  on  the  window- 
seat ;  it  is  a  big  room,  and  our  voices  won't  reach  him. 
Mollie  dear,  remember,  nothing  is  to  be  said  to  father  to- 
night; he  is  far  too  tired  for  fresh  worries.  To-morrow  I 
will  take  him  for  a  prowl,  and  talk  to  him  severely.  No;" 
as  Mollie  looked  at  her  wistfully.  "I  must  have  him  all  to 
myself;  I  can  manage  him  more  easily  so.  Run  down  to 
him  now,  dear,  while  I  take  off  my  hat,  and  then  I  will  join 
you." 

Mollie  did  as  she  was  told ;  and,  thanks  to  Waveney' s 
management,  they  had  another  merry  evening.  Monsieur 
Blackie  was  the  leading  topic.  Waveney  was  quite  touched 
when  Mollie  handed  her  the  bouquet  with  a  little  speech; 
but  Noel  entirely  spoilt  it  by  croaking  out  in  an  absurd  voice, 
"Your  much  and  eternally  obliged  Monsieur  Blackie." 

"Hold  your  tongue,  you  young  rascal,"  returned  Mr. 
Ward,  in  high  good-humour.  "  Mr.  Ingram  is  a  gentleman, 
and  shows  that  he  knows  what  good  manners  are." 

"  Manners  makye  man,"  observed  Mollie,  slyly;  and  then 
Noel  exploded  again. 

"  He  was  the  coolest  hand  I  ever  knew,"  he  replied.  "If 
he  were  his  Grace  the  Duke  of  Wellington,  he  could  not 
have  lorded  it  better.  '  You  are  a  humourist,  my  young 
friend.'  I  should  like  to  have  given  him  one  for  his  im- 
pudence !  And  then  the  cheek  of  telling  '  the  wobbly  one' 
that  he  would  call  again. ' ' 

Mr.  Ward  frowned. 

"  Noel,  I  will  not  have  you  call  Mollie  by  that  name.  A 
jest  is  a  jest,  but  it  must  not  be  carried  too  far." 

*3 


Mollie's  Prince 

"Pegtop,  then,"  returned  Noel,  unabashed  by  this  rebuke, 
for  behind  his  father's  back  he  winked  at  Mollie.  "  But  he 
was  not  a  bad  sort  of  chap.  He  would  be  rather  useful  on  an 
east-windy,  dismal  sort  of  a  day — he  would  make  you  feel 
cheerful.  I  like  a  fellow  who  can  take  a  joke  without  turning 
rusty  over  it" — and  from  Noel  this  was  high  praise. 

Mollie  thought  the  evening  dreadfully  long,  and  she  fidgeted 
so  much,  and  looked  at  the  clock  so  often,  that  her  father 
called  her  drowsy-head,  and  begged  her  to  go  to  bed ;  but 
this  made  her  redden  with  confusion.  And  then,  when  they 
were  safe  in  their  room,  Waveney  chose  to  be  ridiculous  and 
cut  capers.  But  as  soon  as  her  little  song  was  finished  she 
produced  an  old  shepherd's  plaid  rug,  which  was  known  in 
family  annals  as  "the  Lamb,"  and  they  both  crept  under  it, 
and  tucked  up  their  feet  on  the  window-seat,  and  felt  cosy. 

And  if  an  artist  could  have  drawn  the  picture,  it  would 
have  made  his  fortune,  for  the  rough  old  plaid  set  off  Mollie's 
exquisite  face  and  glorious  golden  brown  hair  to  perfection, 
while  Waveney' s  looked  fair  and  infantine  in  the  moonlight. 

Waveney  was  the  talker  now,  and  Mollie  was  the  listener, 
but  every  now  and  then  there  were  little  interjections  of  sur- 
prise and  admiration.  At  the  description  of  "  Fairy  Magnifi- 
cent" Mollie  drew  in  her  breath  and  said  "Oh!"  Miss 
Harford's  ugliness  rather  shocked  her;  she  said  "It  was  a 
great  pity,  and  Waveney  had  never  been  used  to  live  with 
ugly  people" — which  was  perfectly  true. 

She  thought  Queen  Elizabeth's  Wraith  a  rather  far-fetched 
description.  She  could  not  endure  Queen  Bess;  she  was 
such   an    unladylike    person,    and   boxed   gentlemen's   ears. 

And  if  Miss  Althea  were  like  her "     But  here  Waveney 

interposed. 

"Don't  be  a  little  goose,  Moll.  She  is  like  Queen  Eliza- 
beth, and  you  would  say  the  same  yourself  if  you  saw  her ; 
but  she  is  so  nice  and  gentle  that  I  am  sure  I  shall  soon  love 
her.  Well,  let  me  go  on.  I  want  to  tell  you  about  the  Red 
House."  Then  Mollie  sighed  with  satisfaction,  and  com- 
posed herself  to  listen. 

Mollie,  with  all  her  sweetness  and  goodness,  was  a  little 
Sybarite  at  heart.  She  loved  pretty  things,  fine  house,  gems, 
beautiful  dresses.  Mr.  Ward  had  been  almost  shocked  when 
he  had  taken  her  one  day  to  Bond  Street  to  look  at  the  shops. 
It  was  impossible  to  get  her  away  from  the  jewellers'  ;  the 
diamond  tiaras  and  necklets  riveted  her.      "  Who  buys  them, 

64 


Mollie's  Baby-House 

dad?"  she  had  asked,  in  quite  a  loud  voice;  "dukes  and 
earls,  and  those  sort  of  people?" 

"Yes,  of  course,"  returned  Mr.  Ward,  a  little  impatiently, 
"and  the  Prince  of  Wales,  I  daresay;"  for  he  was  rather  pro- 
voked at  the  attention  the  child  was  exciting.  Two  gentle- 
men who  were  passing,  and  had  overheard  Mollie's  remark, 
smiled  at  each  other. 

"  What  a  beautiful  child  !"  observed  one ;  he  was  a  tall,  old 
man,  with  a  fine,  benevolent  face. 

"You  are  right,  Duke,"  returned  the  other,  with  a  super- 
cilious laugh.  "  Some  little  rustic  come  to  town  for  the  first 
time." 

"Come,  Mollie,"  observed  her  father,  rather  crossly,  "we 
must  not  take  up  the  pavement  in  this  way  or  the  Bobby  will 
be  telling  us  to  move  on;"  and  then  Mollie  had  limped  on 
until  another  shop- window  attracted  her. 

Mr.  Ward  had  felt  a  little  perplexed  by  Mollie's  unsatiable 
appetite  for  pretty  things,  and  on  their  return  home  he  un- 
bosomed himself  to  Waveney. 

"All  girls  like  shops,"  he  said,  seriously,  "and  I  knew 
Mollie  would  be  pleased,  but  I  never  expected  her  to  glue  her 
face  to  the  glass  for  half  an  hour  at  a  time.  She  made  her- 
self quite  conspicuous,  and  several  people  laughed  at  her." 

"Mollie  must  be  better  behaved  next  time,"  returned 
Waveney,  smiling.  "  Father,  dear,  I  don't  think  it  matters 
really.  Mollie  is  young,  and  she  leads  such  a  quiet  life,  and 
sees  so  few  things,  that  when  she  goes  out  she  just  loses  her 
head.  I  think,"  she  continued,  calmly,  "that  she  does  care 
for  pretty  things  more  than  most  people, — she  would  love  to 
be  rich,  and  dress  grandly,  and  have  pictures  and  jewels  and 
beautiful  things.  When  we  were  tiny  children  she  always 
would  make  me  read  the  story  of  Cinderella ;  nothing  else 
pleased  her." 

"Don't  you  care  for  pretty  things,  too,  Waveney?"  asked 
her  father,  a  little  sadly. 

"  Oh,  yes,  dad  !  All  girls  care  a  little,  I  think  ;  but  I  am 
not  always  longing  for  them  like  Mollie.  She  makes  up  stories 
to  amuse  herself.  Some  one  is  to  leave  us  a  fortune,  and  we 
are  all  to  be  rich  suddenly.  She  has  actually  imagined  a  house 
and  fitted  it  up  bit  by  bit ;  and  just  for  the  fun  of  the  thing 
I  have  helped  her — it  is  our  playhouse,  you  know.  But  Mollie 
thinks  it  quite  real.  If  you  say  to  her,  '  Let  us  go  down  to 
Kitlands,'  her  eyes  brighten,  and  she  looks  quite  happy." 

5  65 


Mollie's  Prince 

"You  are  foolish  children,"  observed  Mr.  Ward,  fondly. 
"  Who  would  have  thought  that  my  sweet  Moll  had  been  such 
a  little  worldling  at  heart !" 

"No,  dad,  you  must  not  say  that.  Worldly  people  are 
selfish,  and  Mollie  has  not  a  selfish  thought.  It  is  just  a 
pretty,  childish  fancy.  I  sometimes  believe  in  Kitlands  my- 
self, we  have  talked  about  it  so  often.  On  windy  nights  I 
have  seen  the  oaks  tossing  their  branches  in  the  park,  and  the 
deer  huddling  under  them,  and  the  west  room  where  we  al- 
ways sit  of  an  evening,  with  the  bay  window.  And  how  the 
red  firelight  streams  out  on  the  terrace?  And  there  is  a 
delicious  couch  by  the  fire  with  a  lovely  Japanese  screen  be- 
hind it,  and ' '     But  here  Mr.  Ward  put  his  hand  over  the 

girl's  mouth. 

4 'Do  you  think  I  am  going  to  be  entertained  by  a  descrip- 
tion of  your  baby-house?"  he  said,  in  mock  wrath.  "Tell 
Mollie  she  ought  to  be  grown  up  by  this  time."  But  when 
he  was  left  alone,  he  said  to  himself,  "  Now,  why  in  the  world 
should  they  have  hit  on  that  name  Kitlands?  Don't  I  recol- 
lect that  sunny  evening  when  I  walked  up  the  terrace,  and  the 
red  light  streamed  from  the  west  room ! ' '  He  sighed,  then 
roused  himself.  "  Bless  their  dear,  innocent  hearts.  Now  if 
only  their  mother  could  have  heard  all  that !" 

Mollie  was  perfectly  ravished  with  the  description  of  the 
Red  House,  and  as  soon  as  Waveney  paused  to  take  breath, 
she  said,  "  Why,  it  is  almost  as  nice  as  Kitlands,  only  there  is 
no  park  and  no  deer.  But  I  wish  I  had  thought  of  a  pea- 
cock." Then  she  put  her  head  on  one  side  and  reflected 
deeply.  "There  is  the  Italian  garden,  you  know,  Wave,  a 
sundial  would  do  very  nicely  there,  and  we  could  choose  an 
inscription."  But  Waveney  gave  her  a  little  push.  "  Don't 
be  such  a  baby,  Mollie.  We  are  getting  too  old  for  Kitlands. 
We  must  put  our  play-house  away  with  the  dear  old  dolls. 
But,  seriously,  is  it  not  perfectly  delicious  to  think  we  shall  be 
together  every  Sunday  ?' ' 

"Yes,  that  will  be  nice,  of  course.  But  is  it  really  settled, 
Wave?"  and  Mollie's  voice  was  full  of  melancholy. 

"  I  think  so,  dear ;  but,  of  course,  I  must  talk  to  father. 
Darling,  promise  me  that  you  will  try  and  make  the  best  of 
it.  The  week  will  pass  so  quickly,  and  then,  when  Sunday 
comes,  we  shall  be  together.  I  daresay  1  shall  be  with  you 
by  half-past  three,  just  after  father  and  Noel  have  started  for 
their  afternoon  walk." 

66 


Mollie's  Baby-House 


"I  shall  come  to  the  station  and  meet  you,"  interrupted 
Mollie. 

"  Will  you?  How  nice  that  will  be  !  And  we  shall  have 
a  cosy  hour  on  Grumps,  and  you  shall  tell  me  all  your  worries 
— every  one  of  them ;  and  I  will  tell  mine.  Then,  when 
father  comes  in,  you  and  Noel  shall  get  tea  ready,  and  dad 
and  I  will  have  a  little  talk.  And  after  tea  we  will  sing  all 
our  favourite  hymns,  and  then  we  will  go  to  St.  Michael's 
together,  and  I  will  have  my  old  place  by  father." 

"Yes;  and  then  we  will  all  go  to  the  station  with  you. 
But  oh,  Wave,  how  I  shall  hate  Monday  mornings !  I  shall 
never  feel  cheerful  until  Wednesday  is  over ; ' '  but  Waveney 
would  not  hear  of  this — she  preached  quite  a  little  homily  on 
the  duty  of  cultivating  cheerfulness ;  but  her  eloquence  died 
a  natural  death  when  she  saw  Mollie  nod,  and  ten  minutes 
later  they  were  both  asleep. 

It  was  a  free  morning  with  Mr.  Ward,  and  he  was  not  at  all 
surprised  when  Waveney  invited  him  to  take  a  prowl. 

"Won't  Mollie  prowl,  too?"  he  asked,  as  he  noticed  her 
wistful  expression.     But  Waveney  shook  her  head. 

"  Mollie  was  an  idle  girl  yesterday,"  she  remarked,  severely ; 
"she  must  stay  in  and  finish  her  menu  card.  There,  you 
shall  have  the  Black  Prince's  flowers  to  console  you;"  and 
Waveney  placed  them  on  the  painting-table.  "  '  Sweets  to 
the  sweet' — they  are  as  much  yours  as  mine,  Mollie."  Then 
Mollie  blushed  a  little  guiltily.  More  than  once  the  thought 
had  passed  through  her  mind — how  nice  it  would  be  if  she 
had  a  Monsieur  Blackie  to  bring  her  hothouse  flowers.  For 
Mollie  was  very  human,  and  certainly 

"  A  creature  not  too  bright  and  good, 
For  human  nature's  daily  food," 

and  she  had  her  girlish  weaknesses.  Not  that  she  envied 
Waveney  her  flowers  ;  but,  as  she  sniffed  them  delightedly,  her 
imagination  conjured  up  numberless  bouquets  for  Miss  Mollie 
Ward  ;  only  the  donor  must  be  tall  and  fair,  not  a  little  dark 
Frenchified  artist  like  Monsieur  Blackie. 

Waveney  chatted  to  her  father  quite  gaily  until  they  had 
crossed  the  lime  avenue,  and  had  reached  the  landing-stage. 
Then  they  walked  a  little  way  down  the  embankment,  and  sat 
down  on  a  bench  under  a  shady  tree.  It  was  still  early,  and 
there  were  few  passengers ;  only  now  and  then  a  river  steamer 

67 


Mollie's  Prince 

passed,  churning  the  blue  water  into  light,  foamy  waves. 
Two  or  three  children  were  bowling  their  hoops,  followed  by 
a  panting  pug. 

Waveney  cleared  her  voice  rather  nervously  ;  then  she  slid 
her  hand  into  her  father's  arm.  Everard  could  see  the  worn 
little  glove  fingers  on  his  coat  sleeve;  he  stared  at  the  white 
seams  dreamily  as  he  listened.  He  was  a  man  who  noticed 
trifles ;  there  was  a  feminine  element  in  his  character.  That 
little  shabby  grey  glove  appealed  to  him  forcibly. 

"  Father,  dear,  I  have  something  to  tell  you — that  is  why  I 
did  not  want  Mollie  to  come  ;  it  is  so  much  easier  to  talk  about 
difficult  things  to  only  one  person."  Waveney's  voice  was  not 
as  clear  as  usual.  "  Will  you  promise  to  listen,  dearest,  with- 
out interrupting  me?"  Mr.  Ward  nodded,  but  his  face  was  a 
little  grave.     What  could  the  child  have  to  say? 

Waveney  told  her  story  very  fully.  She  gave  her  father  a 
description  of  the  Red  House  and  Fairy  Magnificent,  but  she 
never  mentioned  Miss  Harford's  name ;  she  spoke  of  them 
vaguely  as  "  the  ladies." 

"And  you  have  settled  all  this  without  speaking  to  me?" 
and  there  was  a  hurt  look  on  Mr.  Ward's  face.  Then  Wave- 
ney nestled  closer  to  him. 

"  Father,  dear,  I  wanted  to  tell  you — I  want  to  tell  you 
everything ;  but  you  were  so  tired,  and  I  thought  it  would  be 
kinder  to  wait  until  I  had  spoken  to  the  ladies." 

"The  ladies.  What  ladies?  Have  they  no  name?"  he 
asked,  irritably. 

"Yes,  dear,  of  course  they  have,"  returned  the  girl,  gently. 
"Their  name  is  Harford." 

Then  he  turned  round  a  little  quickly. 

"  Harford.  Oh,  I  daresay  there  are  plenty  of  that  name. 
I  know  Erpingham — Noel  and  I  walked  there  one  Sunday 
afternoon ;  but  I  do  not  remember  the  Red  House." 

"  No ;  it  stands  in  a  lane.  You  have  to  go  through  some 
white  gates.  They  have  not  always  been  at  Erpingham  ;  they 
used  to  live  in  Surrey."     Then  she  felt  him  start  slightly. 

"I  suppose  you  did  not  hear  their  Christian  names?"  he 
asked  a  little  anxiously. 

"  Oh  yes,  dad,  I  did.  The  ugly  one — she  was  very  nice, 
but  she  is  terribly  plain — was  called  Doreen ;  and  the  pale, 
fair  one,  like  Queen  Elizabeth,  was  Althea."  Then  it  was 
evident  that  Mr.  Ward  was  completely  taken  aback. 

"Doreen  and  Althea,"  he  muttered.      "It  must  be  the 

68 


Mollie's  Baby-House 


same.  With  a  singular  coincidence !  Waveney,  my  child, 
tell  me  one  thing.  Was  the  name  of  their  house  in  Surrey 
Kitlands?" 

"1  don't  know,  father;  they  never  told  me.  But  stay  a 
moment :  there  was  a  picture  in  Miss  Harford's  sitting-room 
of  an  old  Elizabethan  house  standing  in  a  park,  and  under  it 
was  written  Kitlands  Park.    I  meant  to  tell  Mollie  about  that. ' ' 

"It  is  the  same — it  must  be  the  same,"  he  returned,  in  a 
low  voice.  "  The  names  are  too  uncommon.  Yes,  and  it  is 
true,  Althea  was  a  little  like  Queen  Elizabeth.  I  would  have 
given  five  years  of  my  life  that  this  had  not  happened.  It  is 
one  of  the  little  ironies  of  fate  that  my  girl  should  have  gone 
to  them." 

"Oh,  why,  father?"  asked  Waveney,  piteously;  her  father's 
look  of  bitterness  filled  her  with  dismay.  Why  was  he  so  dis- 
turbed, so  unlike  himself?  He  did  not  even  hear  her  question. 
He  got  up  from  the  bench  quickly  and  walked  to  the  railings. 
Another  steamer  was  passing.  Mr.  Ward  looked  after  it  with 
vague,  unseeing  eyes. 

Everard  Ward  was  a  proud  man,  in  spite  of  his  easy-going 
ways.  He  had  had  his  ambitions,  his  aspirations,  and  yearn- 
ings. He  had  set  his  ideal  high,  and  yet,  for  want  of  ballast, 
he  had  suffered  shameful  shipwreck. 

At  the  beginning  of  life  he  had  had  his  good  things— health, 
good  looks,  talents,  and  friends.  Doors  had  opened  to  him, 
kindly  hands  had  been  held  out  to  him,  and  one  of  them  a 
woman's  hand ;  but  he  had  turned  away  in  youthful  caprice, 
and  had  chosen  his  own  path. 

He  had  meant  to  have  carved  his  own  fortunes,  to  have 
painted  pictures  that  would  have  made  the  name  of  Everard 
Ward  famous ;  and  he  was  only  a  drawing-master  who  painted 
little  third-rate  pot-boilers. 

How  Everard  loathed  his  poverty  !  His  shabby  coat,  and 
Mollie' s  pitiful  little  makeshifts  and  contrivances,  were  all 
alike  hateful  to  him.  Too  well  he  remembered  the  flesh-pots 
of  Egypt — the  Goshen  of  his  youth,  where  he  had  fared  sumpt- 
uously, when  he  had  money  to  spend  and  the  world  smiled  at 
him ;  and  then,  like  a  fool — the  very  prince  of  fools — he  had 
flung  it  all  away. 

He  had  made  a  mess  of  his  life,  but  he  was  not  without  his 
blessings  ;  and  in  his  better  moments,  when  the  children  were 
singing  their  hymns,  perhaps  he  would  tell  himself  humbly 
that  he  was  not  worthy  of  them. 

69 


Mollie's  Prince 

But  as  he  stood  by  the  river  that  morning,  it  seemed  to  him 
as  though  the  cup  of  his  humiliation  was  full  to  the  very  dregs. 
He  had  so  broken  with  his  old  life  that  few  ghostly  visitants 
from  the  dim  past  troubled  him ;  and  now  there  had  started 
up  in  his  path  the  two  women  whom  he  most  dreaded  to  see. 

And  one  of  them  he  had  wronged,  when,  hot  with  a  young 
man's  passion,  and  tempted  by  Dorothy's  sweet  eyes  and  girl- 
ish grace,  he  had  drawn  back,  suddenly  and  selfishly,  from  the 
woman  he  had  been  wooing. 

Well,  he  had  dearly  loved  his  wife ;  but  the  disgrace  of  that 
shameful  infidelity  was  never  effaced  from  his  memory.  It  was 
a  blot,  a  stain  upon  his  manhood,  a  sore  spot,  that  often  made 
him  wince. 

Would  he  ever  forget  that  day  they  were  in  the  old  walled 
garden,  gathering  peaches,  and  Althea  had  just  handed  him 
one,  hot  with  the  sun,  and  crimson-tinted,  and  bursting  with 
-sweetness  ? 

"  You  always  give  me  the  best  of  everything,  Althea,"  he 
had  said ;  but  he  was  thinking  of  Dorothy  as  he  said  it,  and 
of  her  love  for  peaches. 

"I  like  to  give  you  the  best — the  very  best,"  Althea  had 
answered  sweetly,  and  her  eyes  had  been  so  wistful  and  tender 
that  he  had  felt  vaguely  alarmed.  How  he  had  made  his 
meaning  clear  to  her  he  never  could  remember.  He  had 
spoken  of  Dorothy,  and  perhaps  his  voice  had  trembled,  for 
all  at  once  she  had  become  very  silent,  and  there  was  no  more 
gathering  of  peaches. 

"  I  must  go  in  now,"  she  had  said,  suddenly,  and  he  noticed 
her  lips  were  pale.  "  Doreen  wants  me.  Yes,  I  understand, 
Everard,  and  you  have  my  best  wishes — my  best  wishes." 
And  then  he  had  stood  still  and  watched  her,  a  tall,  slim 
figure  in  white,  moving  between  the  fruit-trees  and  carrying 
her  head  proudly. 

"  And  it  is  to  Althea  Harford  that  my  daughter  has  applied 
for  a  situation,"  thought  Everard,  sadly.  And  again  he  told 
himself  that  he  was  draining  the  cup  of  humiliation  to  the 
very  dregs. 


Rosalind  and  Celia 
CHAPTER  IX. 

ROSALIND   AND   CELIA. 

"  A  hero  worshipped  and  throned  high 
On  the  heights  of  a  sweet  romance, 
A  faithful  friend  who  was  *  always  the  same' 
Till  the  clouds  grew  heavy  and  troubles  came. 
But  this  is  life,  and  this  is  to  live, 
And  this  is  the  way  of  the  world." 

Gertrude  Carey. 

Waveney  sat  on  the  bench  feeling  very  forlorn  and  de- 
serted until  her  father  came  back  to  her.  He  had  evidently 
pulled  himself  together,  for  he  looked  at  her  with  his  old  kind 
smile,  though  perhaps  his  lips  were  not  quite  steady. 

"  Come,  little  girl,  don't  fret,"  he  said,  tenderly.  "  Least 
said  is  soonest  mended,  and  we  must  just  go  through  with 
it." 

"But,  father,  are  you  sure  you  do  not  mind?"  she  re- 
turned, eagerly.  "We  are  very  poor,  but  I  would  rather 
please  you,  dear,  than  have  ever  so  much  money — you  know 
that,  do  you  not  ?' ' 

Waveney' s  eyes  were  full  of  tears,  and  her  little  hands 
clasped  his  arm  appealingly.  Mr.  Ward's  laugh  was  a  trifle 
husky. 

"I  know  I  have  two  good  children,"  he  returned,  feel- 
ingly. "  Look  here,  my  child,  things  have  got  a  little  mixed 
and  complicated,  and  I  find  it  difficult  to  explain  matters. 
It  is  my  '  poverty  and  not  my  will  consents,'  don't  you 
know — and  we  must  just  pocket  our  pride  and  put  a  good 
face  on  it. ' ' 

"Do  you  mean  that  I  am  to  go  to  Miss  Harford?  Are 
you  very  sure  that  you  mean  that,  dad  ?' ' 

"Yes,  certainly" — but  his  face  clouded.  "Did  you  not 
tell  me  that  Miss  Althea  suffered  with  her  eyes,  and  needed 
a  reader  and  companion  ?  We  were  good  friends  once,  so 
why  should  I  put  an  affront  on  her  by  refusing  her  my 
daughter's  services?" 

Waveney  sighed;  she  felt  a  little  oppressed:  her  father 
took  a   reasonable  and  practical  view  of  the  case,  but  his 

7i 


Mollie's  Prince 

voice  was  constrained  ;  he  was  a  proud  man,  and  at  times  he 
chafed  sadly  at  his  limitations.  He  could  not  forget  that  he 
had  come  of  a  good  old  stock ;  he  used  to  tell  his  girls  to 
carry  their  heads  high,  and  not  allow  themselves  to  be  shunted 
by  nobodies. 

"Your  mother  was  a  gentlewoman,"  he  would  say,  "and 
your  great-grandmother  had  the  finest  manners  I  ever  saw ; 
she  was  a  Markham  of  Maplethorpe,  and  drove  in  a  chariot 
and  four  horses  when  she  went  to  the  county  ball.  It  was 
your  grandfather  who  ruined  us  all ;  he  speculated  in  mines, 
and  so  Maplethorpe  was  sold.  I  saw  it  once,  when  I  was  a 
little  chap  :   I  remember  playing  on  the  bowling  green. ' ' 

Everard  Ward  thought  he  was  doing  his  duty  in  teaching 
his  girls  to  consider  themselves  superior  to  their  neighbours, 
but  sometimes  Waveney  would  joke  about  it.  She  would 
come  into  the  room  with  her  little  nose  tip-tilted  and  her 
head  erect,  and  cross  her  mittened  hands  over  her  bosom. 
"Am  I  like  my  great-grandmother  Markham?"  she  would 
say.  ' '  Stand  back,  Mollie ;  I  am  going  to  dance  the  minuet ; ' ' 
and  then  Waveney  would  solemnly  lift  her  skirts  and  point 
her  tiny  foot,  and  her  little  performance  would  be  so  artless 
and  full  of  grace  that  Mr.  Ward  would  sit  in  his  chair  quite 
riveted. 

"Father,  I  wish  you  would  tell  me  how  you  first  came  to 
know  the  Misses  Harford  ?"  asked  Waveney,  rather  timidly. 

Mr.  Ward  had  relapsed  into  silence,  but  he  roused  himself 
at  the  question. 

"It  was  in  my  Oxford  days,  child.  I  was  quite  a  young 
fellow  then.  There  were  a  good  many  pleasant  houses 
where  I  visited,  but  there  was  none  I  liked  so  well  as  Kit- 
lands. 

"  Mrs.  Harford  was  alive  then;  she  was  rather  an  invalid, 
but  we  all  liked  her.  I  always  got  on  with  elderly  women  ; 
they  said  I  understood  their  little  ways.  I  knew  your  Fairy 
Magnificent,  too  ;  she  was  a  great  beauty.  We  young  fellows 
used  to  wonder  why  she  had  never  married  again." 

"Oh,  father,  this  is  very  interesting.  My  good  little  Fairy 
Magnificent." 

Then  he  nodded  and  smiled. 

"When  Mrs.  Mainwaring  came  down  to  Kitlands  there 
would  be  all  sorts  of  gaieties  going  on — riding  parties  and 
archery  meetings  in  the  summer,  and  dances  and  theatricals 
in  the  winter." 

72 


Rosalind  and  Celia 

"  Once  we  acted  a  pastoral  play  in  the  park — As  You  Like 
It.  It  was  very  successful,  and  the  proceeds  went  to  the  county 
hospital.      I  remember  I  was  Orlando." 

"  Was  Miss  Althea  Rosalind?" 

"No,  your  mother  was  Rosalind.  She  acted  the  part 
charmingly ;  it  was  her  first  and  last  appearance.  Althea' ' 
— his  voice  changed — "was  Celia;  her  sister  Doreen  insisted 
on  being  Audrey,  because  she  said  she  looked  the  part  to 
perfection. ' ' 

"Then  mother  knew  them,  too?"  observed  Waveney,  in 
surprise. 

"Well,  no,  dear,  one  could  hardly  say  that.  We  were  in 
great  distress  for  a  Rosalind,  and  the  Williams  heard  of  our 
difficulty,  and  they  said  they  knew  a  young  lady  who  had 
studied  the  part  for  some  private  theatricals  that  had  never 
come  off.  I  had  already  met  your  mother  at  the  county  ball, 
and  I  was  very  glad  to  see  her  again.  Rosalind" — he  laughed 
a  little — "and  Orlando  clenched  the  business." 

"But,  father,  why  have  you  dropped  such  nice  friends?" 
It  was  evident  that  Mr.  Ward  had  expected  this  question,  and 
was  prepared  for  it. 

"Well,  you  see,  my  child,  when  I  married  your  dear 
mother  I  was  supposed  by  my  friends  to  have  done  a  foolish 
thing.  It  was  difficult  enough  to  hold  our  heads  above 
water,  without  trying  to  keep  in  the  swim.  People  quietly 
dropped  us,  as  we  dropped  them.  It  is  the  way  of  the 
world,  little  girl."  And  then  in  a  would-be  careless  tone, 
he  quoted, — 

"  A  part  played  out,  and  the  play  not  o'er, 
And  the  empty  years  to  come ! 
With  dark'ning  clouds  beyond  and  above, 
And  a  helpless  groping  for  truth  and  love, 
But  this  is  life  and  this  is  love, 
And  this  is  the  way  of  the  world." 

It  was  a  habit  of  Mr.  Ward's  to  quote  poetry;  he  often 
read  it  to  his  children ;  he  had  a  clear,  musical  voice.  But 
Waveney  was  not  content  to  have  the  subject  so  summarily 
dismissed. 

' '  Father,  dear,  do  you  really  mean  to  say  that  the  Harfords 
gave  you  up  because  you  were  poor?"  and  her  tone  was  a 
little  severe. 

"No,  dear,   it  was  I  who  gave  them  up.     By  the  bye, 

73 


Mollie's  Prince 

Waveney,  I  wonder  why  they  left  Kitlands?"  and  as  the  girl 
shook  her  head,  he  continued,  thoughtfully,  "It  was  a  big 
place,  and  perhaps  they  did  not  care  to  keep  it  up  after  their 
mother's  death;  they  always  wanted  to  live  nearer  town. 
Well,  have  we  finished  our  talk?"  and  then  Waveney  rose 
reluctantly.  He  had  not  told  her  much,  she  thought  regret- 
fully ;  but,  all  the  same,  her  girlish  intuition  went  very  nearly 
the  truth. 

There  was  something  underneath;  something  that  con- 
cerned Miss  Althea.  Why  had  her  father  looked  so  pained 
when  she  had  mentioned  the  name  ?  But  with  a  delicacy  that 
did  her  honour  she  was  careful  not  to  drop  a  hint  of  her  sus- 
picions to  Mollie. 

Mr.  Ward  thought  he  had  kept  his  secret  well.  He  was 
impulsive  and  reckless  by  nature,  but  his  care  for  his  mother- 
less girls  was  almost  feminine  in  its  tenderness.  They  were 
too  precious  for  the  rough  workaday  world,  so  he  tried  to 
hedge  them  in  with  all  kind  of  sweet  old  obsolete  fashions, 
for  fear  a  breath  should  soil  their  crystalline  purity. 

"  Father  would  like  to  wrap  us  up  in  lavender,  and  put  us 
under  a  glass  case,"  Waveney  would  say,  laughingly,  and  it 
must  be  owned  that  neither  she  nor  Mollie  were  quite  up  to 
date.  They  did  not  talk  slang;  they  were  not  blase;  and  they 
had  fresh,  natural  ideas  on  every  subject,  which  they  would  ex- 
press freely.  Waveney  was  the  most  advanced ;  Mollie  was 
still  a  simple  child,  in  spite  of  her  nineteen  years. 

Mollie  was  very  curious  on  the  subject  of  her  father's  inti- 
macy with  the  Harfords,  but  Waveney  managed  to  satisfy  her 
without  making  any  fresh  mysteries. 

"  It  is  all  in  a  nutshell,  Mollie,"  she  said,  quietly.  "When 
father  was  a  young  man  he  went  to  a  lot  of  nice  houses,  and 
Kitlands  was  one  of  them.  They  were  rich  people  and  very 
gay,  and  gave  grand  parties,  and  he  had  quite  a  good  time  of 
it ;  and  then  he  and  mother  married,  and  they  were  poor ; 
and  then,  somehow,  all  their  fine  friends  dropped  off." 

"  Oh,  what  a  shame  !"  interrupted  Mollie,  indignantly. 

"Well,  the  Harfords  did  not  drop  him,  but  somehow  he 
left  off  going  there ;  and  he  has  never  even  heard  of  them  for 
twenty  years.  I  think  it  upset  him  rather  to  have  his  old  life 
brought  up  before  him  so  suddenly;  it  made  him  feel  the 
difference,  don't  you  see  !"  and  Waveney's  voice  was  a  little 
sad,  she  could  so  thoroughly  enter  into  her  father's  feelings. 
What  a  change  from  the  light-hearted  young  man  of  fashion, 

74 


Rosalind  and  Celia 

acting  Orlando  and  making  love  to  Rosalind  in  the  green 
glades  of  Kitlands,  to  the  shabby,  drudging  drawing-master, 
with  shoulders  already  bowed  with  continual  stooping. 

Waveney  wrote  her  little  note  of  acceptance  the  next  day. 
It  brought  a  kind  answer  from  Miss  Althea ;  she  was  very  glad 
that  Miss  Ward  had  decided  to  come  to  them.  She  and  her 
sister  would  do  their  best  to  make  her  feel  at  home.  Erping- 
ham  was  so  near,  and  they  so  often  drove  into  town,  that  she 
could  see  her  people  constantly.  "  Please  give  our  kind  re- 
membrances to  your  father,  if  he  has  not  quite  forgotten  his 
old  friends,"  was  the  concluding  sentence. 

Waveney  handed  the  note  silently  to  her  father ;  he  red- 
dened over  the  closing  words.  What  a  kind,  womanly  letter 
it  was.  The  faint  smell  of  lavender  with  which  it  was  per- 
fumed was  not  more  fragrant  than  the  warm-hearted  generosity 
that  had  long  ago  forgiven  the  slight. 

Had  he  really  wounded  her  by  his  desertion,  or  had  her 
vanity  merely  suffered  ?  How  often  he  had  asked  himself  this 
question.  They  had  only  met  once,  a  week  before  his  wed- 
ding, and  she  had  been  very  gentle  with  him,  asking  after 
Dorothy  with  a  friendliness  that  had  surprised  him;  for,  man- 
like, he  never  guessed  how  even  a  good  woman  will  on  occa- 
sion play  the  hypocrite. 

" She  is  a  kind  creature,"  he  said,  giving  back  the  letter; 
but  his  manner  was  so  grave  that  even  Mollie  did  not  venture 
to  say  a  word. 

The  girls  had  a  good  deal  on  their  minds  just  then.  Wave- 
ney's  scanty  wardrobe  had  been  reviewed,  and  Mollie  had 
actually  wept  tears  of  humiliation  over  its  deficencies.  "  Oh, 
Wave,  what  will  you  do?"  she  said,  sorrowfully.  "And  we 
dare  not  ask  father  for  more  than  a  few  shillings  !" 

"No,  of  course  not;"  but  Waveney's  forehead  was  lined 
with  care  as  she  sat  silently  revolving  possibilities  and  impos- 
sibilities. 

What  would  the  Misses  Harford  think  of  her  shabby  old 
trunk,  that  had  once  belonged  to  her  mother?  Then  she 
threw  back  her  curly  head  and  looked  at  Mollie  resolutely. 

"  Molly,  don't  be  silly.  Life  is  not  long  enough  for  fretting 
over  trifles.  The  Misses  Harford  know  we  are  poor,  so  they 
will  not  expect  smart  frocks.  I  have  my  grey  cashmere  for 
Sundays,  and  I  must  wear  my  old  serge  for  everyday.  I  will 
get  fresh  trimming  for  my  hat,  and  a  new  pair  of  gloves, 
and " 

75 


Mollie's  Prince 

"And  boots,"  ejaculated  Mollie.  "You  shall  have  a  pair 
of  boots  if  I  go  barefoot  all  the  winter;  and  your  shoes  are 
very  shabby  too,  Wave." 

"  Yes,  I  know.  I  will  talk  to  father  and  see  what  is  to  be 
done.  If  he  would  advance  me  a  couple  of  pounds  I  could 
repay  it  at  Christmas.  Is  it  not  a  blessing  that  I  have  one 
tidy  gown  for  evenings?" — for  some  three  months  before  they 
had  gone  to  some  smart  school  party,  and  their  father,  being 
flush  of  money  just  then,  had  bought  them  some  simple 
evening  dresses.  The  material  was  only  cream-coloured  nun's- 
veiling,  but  Mollie  had  looked  so  lovely  in  her  white  gown 
that  all  the  girls  had  been  wild  with  envy. 

The  dresses  had  only  been  worn  once  since,  and,  as  Wave- 
ney  remarked,  were  just  as  good  as  new.  "  Shall  you  wear  it 
every  evening,  Wave  ?' '  Mollie  had  asked  in  an  awed  tone ; 
and  when  Weaveney  returned,  "Why,  of  course,  you  silly 
child,  I  have  no  other  frock.  In  big  houses  people  always 
dress  nicely  for  dinner;  I  found  that  out  at  Mrs.  Addison's," 
Mollie  regarded  the  matter  as  quite  decided — her  oracle  had 
spoken. 

Mr.  Ward  had  advanced  the  two  pounds  without  any  demur, 
and  the  sisters  made  their  modest  purchases  the  following  after- 
noon. As  Waveney  was  re-trimming  her  hat,  and  Mollie 
painting  her  menu  cards,  Ann  flung  open  the  door  somewhat 
noisily.  "Mr.  Ink-pen,  miss,"  she  announced,  in  a  loud 
voice ;  and  the  next  minute  Monsieur  Blackie  entered.  He 
looked  trim  and  alert,  as  usual ;  his  face  beamed  when  he  saw 
Waveney. 

"It  is  the  right  Miss  Ward  this  time,"  he  said,  shaking 
hands  with  her  cordially.  Then  he  looked  at  Mollie,  and  his 
manner  changed.  "  Will  you  allow  your  maid  to  hang  these 
birds  up  in  your  larder?"  and  he  held  out  a  superb  brace  of 
pheasants  to  the  bewildered  girl. 

Mollie  grew  crimson  with  shyness  and  delight. 

"Do  you  mean  they  are  for  us?"  she  faltered. 

"Yes,  for  you  and  your  sister,  and  your  father,  and  my 
young  friend  the  humourist.  And  please  remember" — and 
now  his  smile  became  more  ingratiating — "  that  they  are  from 
Monsieur  Blackie.  No,  please  do  not  thank  me.  They  were 
shot  by  a  friend  of  mine.  I  rather  object  to  the  massacre  of 
the  innocents  myself,  and  I  prefer  doing  it  by  deputy.  By 
the  bye,  I  find  I  have  a  new  name — your  maid  is  a  humourist 
too.     *  Ink-pen' — there  is  something  charmingly  original  and 

76 


Rosalind  and  Celia 

suggestive  about  that.  It  makes  Ingram  rather  'common- 
place." 

"Oh,  I  think  you  have  such  a  beautiful  name!"  returned 
Mollie,  artlessly.     "  It  is  ever  so  much  better  than  Ward." 

Then  Waveney  nudged  her. 

"I  think  the  pheasants  ought  to  be  hung  up,"  she  said, 
rather  brusquely ;  and  at  this  broad  hint  Mollie  limped  off, 
with  very  pink  cheeks.  "Whatever  made  you  say  that, 
Mollie  ?' '  was  her  comment  afterwards. 

"I  don't  think  it  is  quite  nice  to  tell  gentlemen  that  they 
have  beautiful  names.  I  am  sure  I  saw  an  amused  look  on 
Mr.  Ingram's  face." 

But  Mollie  only  looked  puzzled  at  this. 

"Ann  is  very  stupid  about  names,"  remarked  Waveney, 
as  she  took  up  her  work  again.  "  She  always  calls  me  Miss 
Waverley  and  Noel,  Master  Noll.  Somehow  she  does  not 
seem  to  grasp  sounds." 

"Was  your  sister  christened  Mollie?"  he  asked,  quickly; 
and  he  looked  at  the  menu  cards  as  he  spoke. 

"  Yes;  it  was  mother's  fancy,  and  I  do  so  love  the  name," 
returned  Waveney,  in  her  frank  way.  i  *  I  daresay  you  would 
not  guess  it — people  seldom  do — but  we  are  twins.  Strangers 
always  think  Mollie  is  the  elder." 

"I  should  have  thought  so  myself,"  returned  Ingram  ;  and 
then  he  took  up  one  of  the  cards.  Waveney  thought  he  was 
a  little  nervous — his  manner  was  so  grave.  "  These  are  very 
pretty,"  he  said,  quietly.  "  I  thought  so  the  other  day.  The 
design  is  charming.  May  I  ask  if  your  sister  ever  takes  orders 
for  them?" 

"Yes,  indeed;1  a  lady  has  commissioned  Mollie  to  paint 
these.     She  is  to  have  twelve  shillings  for  the  set." 

"Twelve  shillings!"  and  here  Ingram's  voice  was  quite 
indignant.  "Miss  Ward,"  he  continued,  turning  round  to 
Mollie,  who  had  just  re-entered  the  room,  "it  is  a  shame 
that  you  should  be  so  fleeced.  Why,  the  design  is  worth 
double  that  sum.  Now  there  is  a  friend  of  mine  who  would 
willingly  give  you  two  guineas  for  a  set  of  six.  She  is 
very  artistic,  and  fond  of  pretty  things,  and  if  you  are  will- 
ing to  undertake  the  commission  I  will  write  to  her  to- 
morrow." 

Willing !  Mollie's  eyes  were  shining  with  pleasure.  If 
she  could  only  earn  the  two  guineas  !  They  should  furnish 
sop  for  Cerberus — alias  Barker.     Waveney' s  earnings  would 

77 


Mollie's  Prince 

not  be  due  until  Christmas,  and  the  constant  nagging  of  the 
aggrieved  butcher  was  making  Ann's  life  miserable. 

"  'Master  says  if  meat's  wanted  it  must  be  paid  for,  and 
he  does  not  hold  with  cheap  cuts  and  long  reckonings.' 
Drat  the  man!  I  hates  the  very  sight  of  him,"  remarked 
Ann,  wrathfully,  to  her  usual  confidante,  Mrs.  Muggins — for 
with  toothache,  a  swollen  face,  and  an  irascible  butcher,  life 
was  certainly  not  worth  living. 

"  Then  I  will  write  to  my — to  the  lady  to-morrow."  Both 
Mollie  and  Waveney  noticed  the  little  slip.  "  I  wonder  if 
he  is  married,"  Waveney  said  to  herself.  But  Mollie's  in- 
ward comment  was,  ''Very  likely  Mr.  Ingram  is  engaged, 
but  he  does  not  know  us  well  enough  to  tell  us  so." 

Mr.  Ingram  was  trying  to  regain  his  airy  manner,  but  a 
close  observer  would  have  detected  how  keenly  he  was  watch- 
ing the  two  girls  as  he  talked.  Nothing  escaped  him — the 
new  hat  trimmings,  and  the  faded  hat ;  Waveney's  worn  little 
shoe,  and  the  white  seams  in  Molly's  blue  serge. 

Cinderella — he  always  called  her  Cinderella  to  himself — 
was  no  whit  smarter  than  she  had  been  the  other  day ;  her 
hair  was  rather  rough,  as  though  the  wind  had  loosened  it. 
And  yet  with  what  ease  and  sprightliness  they  chattered  to 
him  !  Their  refined  voices,  their  piquante,  girlish  ways,  free 
from  all  self-consciousness,  delighted  the  young  man,  who 
had  travelled  all  over  the  world,  and  had  not  found  anything 
so  simple,  and  artless,  and  real,  as  these  two  girls.  It  was 
Waveney  to  whom  he  directed  his  conversation,  and  with 
whom  he  carried  on  his  gay  badinage ;  but  when  he  spoke  to 
Mollie,  his  voice  seemed  to  soften  unconsciously,  as  though 
he  were  speaking  to  a  child. 


78 


"  It  is  the  Voice  of  Sheila" 


CHAPTER  X. 
"it  is  the  voice  of  sheila." 

*'  In  the  grey  old  chapel  cloister 
I  sit  and  muse  alone, 
Till  the  dial's  time-worn  fingers 
Mark  the  moment  when  we  twain 
Shall  in  paradisal  sunlight 
Walk  together,  once  again." 

Helen  Marion  Burnside. 

There  was  no  doubt  that  both  Waveney  and  Mollie  found 
their  guest  amusing.  His  views  of  life  were  so  original,  and 
there  was  such  a  quiet  vein  of  humour  running  through  his 
talk  that,  after  a  time,  little  peals  of  girlish  laughter  reached 
Ann's  ears.  It  was  Mollie  who  first  struck  the  keynote  of 
discord. 

Mr.  Ingram  had  been  speaking  of  a  celebrated  singer 
whom  he  had  heard  in  Paris. 

"She  is  to  sing  at  St.  James'  Hall  next  Saturday  week, " 
he  went  on.  "  They  say  the  place  will  be  packed.  A  friend 
of  mine  has  some  tickets  at  his  bestowal  if  you  and  your 
sister  would  care  to  go."  As  usual  he  addressed  Waveney ; 
but  Mollie 's  face  grew  very  long. 

"Oh,  dear,  how  nice  it  would  have  been!"  she  sighed; 
"but  Waveney  is  going  away;"  and  her  eyes  filled  with 
tears. 

"  Going  away  !"  he  echoed  in  surprise. 

"Yes.  She  is  going  to  be  a  reader  and  companion  to  a 
lady  living  at  Erpingham,  and  she  will  only  come  home  on 
Sundays;"  and  then  a  big  tear  rolled  down  Mollie's  smooth 
cheek  and  dropped  into  her  lap.  "And  we  have  never  been 
apart  for  a  single  day  !"     She  finished  with  a  little  sob. 

"Dear  Mollie,  hush,"  whispered  Waveney.  "We  ought 
not  to  trouble  Mr.  Ingram  with  our  little  worries.  Erping- 
ham is  a  nice  place,"  she  continued,  trying  to  speak  cheer- 
fully.    "  Do  you  know  it?" 

"  Oh,  yes,"  he  returned,  quickly.     "Most  people  know  it. 

79 


Mollie's  Prince 

There  is  a  fine  common,  and  some  golf  links,  and  there  are 
some  big  houses  there." 

"Yes;  but  the  Red  House  is  in  Erpingham  Lane." 

Then  Mr.  Ingram  started. 

"I  think  some  ladies  of  the  name  of  Harford  live  there," 
he  said,  carelessly.      "  Two  si  "   >  are  very  much  given  to 

good  works. ' ' 

"Oh,  do  you  know  them  veney,  eagerly;  but 

it  struck  her  that  he  evaded 

"We  have  mutual  friends,  >  he  replied,  rather  stiffly. 
"They  are  excellent  women,  and  do  an  immense  amount  of 
good.  They  have  a  sort  of  home  for  broken-down  governesses, 
and  they  do  a  lot  for  shop-women.  I  have  an  immense  respect 
for  people  who  do  that  sort  of  thing,"  recovering  his  sprightli- 
ness.  "I  tried  slumming  once  myself,  but  I  had  to  give  it 
up ;  it  was  not  my  vocation.  The  boys  called  me  '  Guy 
Fawkes,'  and  that  hurt  my  feelings.  By  the  bye,"  as  they 
both  laughed  at  this,  "I  have  never  explained  the  purport  of 
my  visit.  I  understood  from  your  sister,"  and  here  he  looked 
at  Waveney,  "that  Mr.  Ward  had  a  picture  for  sale.  '  King 
Canute,'  was  it  not?  Well,  a  friend  of  mine  has  a  picture- 
gallery,  and  he  is  always  buying  pictures.  He  wants  to  fill 
up  a  vacant  place  in  an  alcove,  and  he  suggested  some  early 
English  historical  subject.  He  has  an  'Alfred  toasting  the 
cakes  in  the  swine-herd's  cottage,'  and  a  'St.  Augustine  look- 
ing at  the  Saxon  slaves  in  the  market-place/  and  it  struck  me 
that  'King  Canute'  would  be  an  excellent  subject." 

"  What  lots  of  friends  you  seem  to  have  !"  remarked  Mollie, 
innocently.  "  There  is  the  one  who  shoots  pheasant,  and 
the  one  who  buys  menu  cards,  and  now  another  who  buys 
pictures." 

Ingram  looked  a  little  embarrassed,  but  he  was  amused 
too. 

"One  can't  knock  about  the  world  without  making  frienr1 
he  said,  lightly.      "  Do  you  recollect  what  Apolinarius  savs  : 
'for  I  am  the  only  one  of  my  friends  I  rely  on.'     *9 
Chinese  have  a  better   maxim  still :      '  There  are  plenty  of 
acquaintances  in  the  world,  but  very  few  -vnl  friends.'  " 

"Is  the  picture  friend  only  an  acquaintance?"  asked 
Mollie,  rather  provokingly. 

"No,  indeed,"  returned  Ingram,  energetic  "We  are 

like  brothers,  he  and  I,  and  I  have  known  my  life. 

Well,  Miss  Mollie,  do  you  think  your  father  \  willing 

So 


"  It  is  the  Voice  of  Sheila" 

to  let  my  friend  have  '  King  Canute'  ?  It  is  a  famous  subject, 
and  brings  back  the  memories  of  one's  school  days;"  and 
then  he  walked  to  the  picture  and  stood  before  it,  as  though 
he  were  fascinated ;  but  in  reality  he  was  saying  to  himself, 
"  Now,  what  am  I  to  offer  for  this  very  mawkish  and  stilted 
performance?"  And  '  -  'stion  was  so  perplexing  that  he 
fell  into  a  brown  st 

Mollie  looked  w  She  was  brimful  of  excite- 

ment.    But  Wave^  /head. 

"Would  it  not  be  bet  ^  fur  your  friend  to  see  the  picture 
first?"  she  said,  in  a  cool,  business-like  tone;  but  inwardly 
she  was  just  as  excited  as  Mollie.  Ten  pounds  would  pay  all 
they  owe  to  Barber,  and  Chandler  would  wait.  {<I  am  sure 
that  father  would  be  pleased  to  see  any  one  who  cared  to  look 
at  the  picture,"  she  finished,  boldly. 

Mr.  Ingram  regarded  her  pleasantly. 

"  You  are  very  good,  but  there  is  not  the  slightest  occasion 
to  trouble  you.  I  am  my  friend's  agent  in  this  sort  of  thing. 
I  have  been  abroad  a  good  deal,  and  have  served  my  appren- 
ticeship to  art.  I  am  an  art  critic,  don't  you  know.  Now, 
would  you  mind  telling  me,  Miss  Ward,  how  much  your  father 
expected  to  get  from  the  dealers?" 

"I  don't  know,"  returned  Waveney,  doubtfully.  "There 
was  no  fixed  price,  was  there,  Mollie?  Father  told  us  that 
he  would  be  content  with  ten  pounds." 

"My  dear  Miss  Ward,"  returned  Ingram,  in  a  tone  of 
strong  remonstrance,  "  your  father  undervalues  himself.  Ten 
pounds  for  that  work  of  art !  Heaven  forgive  me  all  the  fibs 
I  am  telling,"  he  added,  mentally,  and  then  he  cleared  his 
throat.  "I  am  no  Jew,  and  must  decline  to  drive  a  hard 
bargain.  If  Mr.  Ward  will  let  my  friend  have  '  King  Ca- 
nute,' I  shall  be  willing  to  pay,  on  his  behalf,  five-and-twenty 
pounds:  I  mean" — looking  calmly  at  the  girl's  agitated  face 
-"  five-and-twenty  guineas." 

They  were  too  overwhelmed  with   surprise  and   pleasure 
.swer   him;    and  just   at   that   moment — that   supreme 
moment — they  heard  their  father's  latch-key. 

Ingram  described  the  little  scene  later  on  to  a  dear  friend. 

"It  was  Atalanta's  race,  don't  you  know.  They  both 
S3ftted  to  veach  their  father  first ;  he  was  the  golden  apple, 
pro  tern.     , 

"  Tl  iss  Ward  had  long  odds,  but  my  little »friend 

of  the  beat  her  hollow.     Can  you  fancy  Titania 

6  81 


Mollie's  Prince 

coming  down  her  ladder  of  cobwebs  ?  Well,  you  should  see 
Miss  Ward  number  two,  running  downstairs — it  would  give 
you  a  notion  of  it.  And  there  was  the  golden  apple  on  the 
door-mat  waiting  for  her." 

"You  are  very  absurd,"  returned  his  hearer,  laughing, 
"but  your  description  amuses  me,  so  please  go  on." 

"There  is  something  very  refreshing  in  such  originality," 
he  murmured,  languidly.  "  I  have  an  idea  that  Gwen  would 
love  those  girls.  Gwen  is  all  for  nature  and  reality.  Con- 
ventionality might  have  suggested  that  it  was  hardly  mannerly 
to  leave  a  guest  in  an  empty  room,  even  for  golden  apples, 
but  no  such  idea  would  have  occurred  to  the  Misses  Ward. 
They  even  forgot  that  sound  ascends,  and  that  I  could  hear 
every  word." 

"  Dear  me,  that  was  very  awkward  !"  But  the  lady  spoke 
maliciously. 

"I  could  hear  every  word,"  he  repeated,  and  then  his  eyes 
twinkled ;  but  he  was  honourable  enough  not  to  repeat  the 
little  conversation. 

"Father,  Monsieur  Blackie  is  upstairs!"  and  here  Mollie 
giggled.  "  His  real  name  is  Ingram,  but  Ann  calls  him  Mr. 
Ink-pen." 

"All  right,  my  pet ;  so  I  suppose  I  had  better  go  upstairs ;" 
but  Waveney  pulled  him  back. 

"  Wait  a  moment,  father  dear.  What  a  hurry  you  are  in  ! 
And  your  hair  is  so  rough,  and  your  coat  is  dusty.  Give  me 
the  brush,  Mollie.  We  must  put  him  tidy.  Dad,  such  a  won- 
derful thing  has  happened.  Mr.  Ingram  wants  to  buy  King 
Canute  '  for  a  rich  friend  who  has  a  picture-gallery,'  and  he 
will  pay  you  five-and-twenty  guineas." 

"Nonsense,  child!"  But  from  his  tone  Mr.  Ward  was 
becoming  excited  too.  "Let  me  pass,  Mollie;  you  are  for- 
getting your  manners,  children,  leaving  a  visitor  alone;"  and 
Everard  Ward  marched  into  the  studio,  with  his  head  un- 
usually high. 

"  The  ' golden  apple/  alias  Ward  pere,  was  a  shabby,  fair 
little  man  with  a  face  like  a  Greek  god,"  continued  Ingram. 
"  He  must  have  been  a  perfect  Adonis  in  his  youth.  He  had 
brown  pathetic  eyes,  rather  like  a  spaniel's — you  know  what 
I  mean,  eyes  that  seemed  always  to  be  saying,  'lama  good 
fellow,  though  I  am  down  on  my  luck,  and  I  should  V*.e  to 
be  friends  with  you.'  " 

"  It  was  evident  that  the  two  men  took  to  each  other  If  once. 

82 


"  It  is  the  Voice  of  Sheila" 

Ingram's  pleasant  manners  and  undisguised  cordiality  put  Mr. 
Ward  at  his  ease,  and  in  a  few  minutes  they  were  talking  as 
though  they  were  old  friends. 

The  subject  of  '  King  Canute'  was  soon  brought  forward 
again,  and  Ingram  explained  matters  with  a  good  deal  of  tact 
and  finesse. 

Everard  Ward  reddened,  and  then  he  said  bluntly,  "You 
are  very  good,  Mr.  Ingram,  to  offer  me  such  a  handsome 
price,  but  sheer  honesty  compels  me  to  say  the  picture  is  not 
worth  more  than  ten  pounds.  I  have  not  worked  out  the 
subject  as  well  as  I  could  wish."  And  then  he  added,  a  little 
sadly,  "  It  is  a  poor  thing,  but  my  own." 

"  My  dear  sir,"  returned  Ingram,  airily,  "we  artists  are  bad 
critics  of  our  own  work.  My  friends  regard  me  as  an  opti- 
mist, but  I  call  myself  an  Idealist.  I  am  a  moral  Sisyphus, 
for  ever  rolling  my  poor  stone  up  the  hill  difficulty. ' '  Then, 
as  he  noticed  Mollie's  puzzled  look,  he  continued  blandly, 
"  Sisyphus  was  a  fraudulent  and  avaricious  king  of  Corinth, 
whose  task  in  the  world  of  shades  is  to  roll  a  large  stone  to 
the  top  of  a  hill  and  fix  it  there.  The  unpleasant  part  of  the 
business  is  that  the  stone  no  sooner  reaches  the  hill-top  than 
it  bounds  down  again.  Excuse  this  lengthy  description, 
which  reminds  me  a  little  of  Sandford  and  Merton.  But, 
revenons  a  nos  moutons,  I  am  ready,  Mr.  Ward,  to  take  the 
picture  for  my  friend  at  the  price  I  mentioned  to  your  daugh- 
ters; and  as  I  have  the  money  about  me" — and  here  he  pro- 
duced a  Russian  leather  pocket-book — "  I  think  we  had  better 
settle  our  business  at  once." 

Everard  Ward  was  only  human,  and  the  bait  was  too 
tempting.  His  conscience  told  him  that  the  picture  was  a 
failure,  and  hardly  worth  more  than  the  cost  of  the  frame ; 
and  yet  such  is  the  vanity  innate  in  man  that  he  was  willing 
to  delude  himself  with  the  fancy  that  the  stranger's  eyes  had 
detected  merit  in  it.  And,  indeed,  Ingram's  manner  would 
have  deceived  any  one. 

"It  is  the  very  thing  he  wants  for  the  alcove,"  he  mur- 
mured, stepping  back  a  few  paces,  and  regarding  the  picture 
through  half  closed  eyes.  "  The  light  will  be  just  right,  and" 
— here  he  appeared  to  swallow  something  with  difficulty — 
"the  effect  will  be  extremely  good."  And  then  he  began 
counting  the  crisp  bank-notes. 

Waveney's  eyes  began  to  sparkle,  and  she  and  Mollie  tele- 
graphed little  messages  to  each  other.     Not  only  the  insolent 

83 


Mollie's  Prince 

Barker  would  be  paid,  but  the  much-enduring  Chandler. 
When  Mr.  Ward  went  down-stairs  to  open  the  door  for  his 
guest,  Waveney  threw  her  arm  round  her  sister,  and  dragged 
her  down  upon  Grumps. 

u  Oh,  Mollie,  I  quite  love  that  dear  little  Monsieur 
Blackie  !"  she  cried,  enthusiastically.  "  Think  of  ten  whole 
pounds  to  spend  !  Father  can  have  a  new  great-coat,  and 
Noel  those  boots  he  wants  so  dreadfully,  and  you  must  have  a 
new  jacket — I  insist  on  it,  Mollie;  I  shall  do  very  well  with 
my  old  one  until  Christmas."  But  Mollie  would  not  hear  of 
this  for  a  moment :  if  any  one  had  the  new  jacket,  it  must 
be  Waveney.  What  did  it  matter  what  a  poor,  little  Cinder- 
ella wore  at  home  ?  And  they  both  got  so  hot  and  excited 
over  the  generous  conflict  that  Mr.  Ward  thought  they  were 
quarrelling  until  he  saw  their  faces. 

"I  like  that  fellow,"  he  said,  rubbing  his  hands;  "he  is 
gentlemanly  and  agreeable;  he  told  me  in  confidence  that, 
though  he  calls  himself  an  artist,  he  only  dabbles  in  art.  '  If 
a  relative  had  not  left  me  a  nice  little  property,  I  should  long 
ago  have  been  in  Queer  Street,'  he  said,  in  his  droll  way." 

"  Oh,  then  he  is  not  poor  as  we  are?"  observed  Mollie,  in  a 
disappointed  tone. 

"  No,  he  is  certainly  not  poor,"  returned  her  father,  laugh- 
ing. "  I  should  think  he  is  tolerably  well-to-do,  judging  from 
appearances,  and  certainly  he  has  rich  friends.  He  has  asked 
my  permission  to  call  again  when  he  is  in  the  neighbourhood ;" 
and  both  the  girls  were  pleased  to  hear  this. 

Waveney  had  not  seen  her  old  friends  at  the  Hospital  for 
more  than  a  week,  so  one  morning  she  went  across  to  wish 
them  good-bye.  She  had  a  little  cake  that  Mollie  had  made 
for  them,  and  some  tobacco  that  she  had  bought  with  her  own 
money. 

It  was  a  wet  day,  and  most  of  the  pensioners  were  in  the 
big  hall.  One  of  them  told  Waveney  that  Sergeant  McGill 
was  in  his  cubicle  with  the  corporal,  as  usual,  in  attendance. 
"They  do  say  the  sergeant's  a  bit  poorly,"  continued  her 
informant.  And  a  moment  afterwards  she  came  upon  Cor- 
poral Marks,  stumping  along  the  corridor  with  a  newspaper 
in  his  hand.  The  little  man  looked  dejected,  but  he  saluted 
Waveney  with  his  usual  dignity. 

"  I  hear  the  sergeant  is  not  well.  I  trust  it  is  nothing 
serious."  Then  the  corporal  shook  his  head,  and  his  blue 
eyes  were  a  little  watery. 

84 


"  It  is  the  Voice  of  Sheila" 

"  Well,  no,  Miss  Ward,  not  to  say  serious — we  are  none  of 
us  chickens,  so  to  speak,  and  we  have  most  of  us  cut  our  wis- 
dom teeth  a  good  many  years  ago.  The  sergeant  has  been 
poorly  for  a  week  now.  He  is  down  in  the  mouth,  and  I 
can't  rouse  him  nohow.  Would  you  believe  it,  Miss  Ward,  I 
was  trying  to  argify  with  him  this  morning  about  that  there 
Sepoy.  '  For  it  stands  to  reason,  McGill,'  I  said  to  him, 
'  that  there  could  only  be  two  of  them ;'  and  he  fairly  flew  at 
me,  lost  his  temper,  and  told  me  I  was  an  infernal  liar.  Why, 
you  might  have  knocked  me  down  with  a  feather,  I  was  so 
taken  aback;"  and  the  corporal's  droll  face  was  puckered  up 
with  care. 

"  Never  mind,  Corporal,"  returned  Waveney,  soothingly. 
"  McGill  was  ill  and  not  himself,  or  he  would  not  have  been 
so  irritable  with  his  old  comrade.  Look  here,  I  have  come  to 
bid  you  all  good-bye,  because  I  am  going  away ;  and  my  sister 
has  made  you  one  of  those  cakes  you  like,  and  I  have  brought 
you  some  tobacco."     Then  the  corporal's  face  cleared  a  little. 

They  found  the  old  soldier  lying  on  his  bed,  with  a  rug 
over  his  feet ;  his  face  looked  drawn  and  pallid.  At  the  sound 
of  Waveney's  light  step  he  turned  his  sightless  eyes  towards 
her,  and  a  strange  expression  passed  over  his  features. 

"  There  was  only  one  step  that  was  as  light,"  he  murmured, 
in  his  thick,  soft  voice,  "and  that  was  Sheila's,  and  hers 
hardly  brushed  the  dewdrops  from  the  heather. ' '  Then,  as 
Waveney  took  hold  of  his  great  hand,  "  and  it  was  her  small 
fingers,  too,  the  brown  little  hands  that  carried  the  creel  of 
peat,  and  stacked  it  underneath  the  eaves ;  and  it  is  Sheila 
that  has  come  to  me — Heaven  bless  her  sweet  face ! — before  I 
take  the  long  journey." 

"  My  dear  old  friend,  do  you  not  know  me?"  and  Waveney 
looked  anxiously  at  him.  "It  is  not  Sheila,  it  is  Miss  Ward 
who  has  come  to  wish  you  good-bye."  Then  the  old  man 
looked  bewildered,  and  raised  himself  on  the  pillow. 

"And  are  you  ferry  well,  Miss  Ward?  And  it  is  I  who 
have  made  the  mistake,  like  the  old  fool  that  I  was.  It  may 
be  I  was  dreaming — I  was  always  clever  at  the  dreams,  as  the 
corporal  knows.  But  it  seemed  to  me  as  though  I  could  see 
the  blue  water  of  the  loch,  and  the  grey  walls  of  our  cottage, 
and  the  shingly  roofs,  and  even  the  cocks  and  hens  pecking 
in  the  dust.  And  there  was  Sheila  coming  up  from  the  beach, 
with  her  bare  feet,  and  red  kerchief  tied  over  her  dark  hair  ; 
and  her  smile  was  like  sunshine,  and  her  hands  were  full  of 

S5 


Mollie's  Prince 

great  scarlet  poppies.     And  if  it  was  a  dream,  it  was  a  good 
dream." 

"Was  Sheila  your  sister?"  asked  Waveney,  softly.  For 
she  knew  that  Sergeant  McGill  had  never  been  married, 
though  the  corporal  was  a  widower.  Then,  at  the  beloved 
name,  McGill  roused  to  complete  consciousness. 

"  No,  Miss  Ward.  I  had  no  sister,  only  six  brothers,  and 
Sheila  was  the  lass  of  my  heart ;  and  when  1  had  got  my  stripes 
we  were  to  have  married.  But  it  was  my  fate,  for  when  I 
came  from  the  wars,  there  was  the  loch,  and  the  purple  moors, 
and  the  grey  walls  of  the  cottage ;  but  Sheila,  she  would  never 
come  to  meet  me  again  with  the  poppies  in  her  hand,  and  the 
wild  rose  in  her  cheek.  She  lay  in  the  graveyard  on  the  hill- 
side, where  the  dead  can  hear  the  bees  humming  in  the 
heather.  But  it  is  not  the  goot  manners  to  be  telling  you 
of  the  old  troubles,  and  very  soon  it  is  Sheila  herself  that  I 
shall  see." 

"Tell  Miss  Ward  the  message  that  Sheila  left  with  her 
mother,  McGill." 

"  It  was  this  that  she  said,"  he  continued,  in  a  proud  tone, 
"  '  You  must  bid  Fergus  McGill  not  to  grieve ;  he  is  a  grand 
soldier  and  a  good  lad,  and  dearly  I  would  have  loved  to  have 
been  his  wife.  But  God's  will  be  done.  Tell  him  I  will  be 
near  the  gates ;  and  that  if  the  angels  permit,  that  it  is  Sheila 
who  will  be  there  to  welcome  him.'  " 

"  That  message  must  have  made  you  very  happy,"  returned 
Waveney,  tenderly. 

1 '  They  were  goot  words,  and  I  do  not  deny  that  they  have 
given  me  comfort,"  replied  McGill,  solemnly.  "But  for 
years  I  had  a  heavy  heart ;  for  when  a  Highlander  loses  the 
lass  of  his  heart,  the  world  is  a  barren  place  to  him.  But  it 
is  the  truth  that  Sheila  has  spoken,  and  it  is  herself  that  I 
shall  see,  with  these  dim  old  eyes." 

He  sank  back  a  little  heavily  on  the  pillows.  Waveney 
leant  over  him  and  spoke  gently  in  his  ear. 

"McGill,"  she  said,  in  her  clear,  girlish  voice,  "do  you 
know  you  have  hurt  the  poor  corporal's  feelings.  You  were 
angry  with  him  this  morning,  and  called  him  names." 

Then  there  was  a  flush  of  shame  on  the  grand  old  face. 

"  It  was  myself  that  was  in  fault,  Miss  Ward,  for  I  lost  my 
temper.  But  it  is  not  the  corporal  who  will  quarrel  with  his 
old  comrade.  It  was  the  liar  that  I  called  him,  but  it  was  I 
who  disgraced  myself." 

86 


"  It  is  the  Voice  of  Sheila" 

"Never  mind,  old  mate,  I  was  wrong  to  argify,  and  so  we 
are  quits  there.  For  it  stands  to  reason,"  continued  the 
corporal,  "  that  when  a  man  is  poorly,  he  is  not  in  a  condi- 
tion for  fighting. ' ' 

"  Still,  it  was  the  bad  manners  to  be  calling  any  one  a  liar," 
returned  Sergeant  McGill.  "But  a  Highlander's  temper  is 
not  always  under  control.  So  I  ask  your  pardon,  Marks,  but 
it  was  three  Sepoys  that  I  killed  with  my  own  hand,  and  I  had 
the  third  by  the  throat. ' ' 

"Dear  Sergeant,"  interposed  Waveney,  softly,  "Corporal 
Marks  quite  understands  all  that ;  and  what  does  it  matter? — 
a  little  difference  between  two  old  friends  ! ' '  Then  a  strangely 
sweet  smile  lighted  up  the  wrinkled  old  face. 

"It  is  the  voice  of  Sheila.  And  what  will  she  be  saying 
again  and  again  :  *  Blessed  are  the  peace-makers' — and  they 
are  grand  words." 

"Shall  I  read  to  you  a  little?"  asked  the  girl,  timidly. 
Then  the  corporal  took  down  an  old  brown  Testament  from 
the  shelf,  and  Waveney  read  slowly  and  reverently,  passage 
after  passage,  until  the  heavy  breathing  told  her  that  McGill 
was  asleep.  Then  she  closed  the  book  and  went  out  into  the 
corridor. 

"  He  is  very  ill,"  she  said,  sorrowfully ;  "so  feeble  and  so 
unlike  himself. ' '     But  the  corporal  refuted  this  stoutly. 

"  McGill  is  but  poorly,"  he  returned,  so  gruffly  that 
Waveney  did  not  venture  to  say  more.  "When  he  has 
taken  a  bottle  or  two  of  the  doctor's  stuff,  he  will  pick  up 
a  bit;  he  sleeps  badly,  and  that  makes  him  drowsy  and 
confused,"  and  then  he  saluted,  and  stumped  back  to  his 
comrade. 

Waveney  heard  a  different  story  downstairs. 

"  Have  you  seen  McGill  ?' '  two  or  three  said  to  her.  "The 
poor  chap,  he  is  breaking  fast.  The  corporal  won't  believe  it, 
but  it  is  plain  as  a  pike-staff;"   and  so  on. 

"Mollie,  dear,"  observed  Waveney,  sadly,  "I  have  such 
bad  news  to  tell  you :  dear  old  Sergeant  McGill  is  very  ill, 
and  I  fear  he  is  going  to  die ;  and  what  will  the  corporal 
do  without  him ?  And  it  is  so  strange  ;"  she  went  on,  "he 
thinks  he  is  a  lad  again,  in  his  Highland  home,  and  that  his 
sweetheart  Sheila  is  coming  to  meet  him.  He  calls  her  the 
lass  of  his  heart,  and  it  is  all  so  poetical  and  beautiful;" 
and  Waveney' s  voice  was  so  full  of  pathos  that  Mollie' s  eyes 
filled  with  sympathetic  tears. 

87 


Mollie's  Prince 


CHAPTER  XI. 

"a  noticeaele  man,  with  large  grey  eyes." 

11  As  high  as  we  have  mounted  in  delight 
In  our  dejection  do  we  sink  as  low." 

Wordsworth. 

After  all,  Mollie  had  her  way,  and  Waveney,  in  spite  of 
piteous  pleading  and  remonstrance,  became  the  reluctant  pos- 
sessor of  a  warm  dress  and  jacket. 

Mr.  Ward  had  put  his  foot  down  in  a  most  unexpected 
manner ;  if  Waveney  would  not  buy  her  jacket  he  would  go 
without  his  great-coat ;  Barker  and  Chandler  had  been  paid, 
and  there  was  sufficient  money  for  everything.  And  when 
Waveney  understood  that  any  shabbiness  on  her  part  would 
be  grievous  in  his  eyes,  she  yielded  at  once. 

"If  father  wishes  it  I  will  get  the  things,"  she  said  to 
Mollie ;   "but  I  never  enjoy  anything  unless  you  share  it." 

But  Mollie  would  not  listen  to  this. 

"What  does  it  matter  about  me?"  she  said,  gaily.  "I 
am  only  a  poor  little  Cinderella  whose  pumpkin  coach  has 
not  arrived.  My  old  jacket  will  do  quite  well  until  Christ- 
mas. ' ' 

And  then,  when  the  purchases  were  made,  Mollie  was  like 
a  sunbeam  for  the  rest  of  the  day. 

Waveney  went  twice  to  the  Hospital  before  she  started  for 
Erpingham,  but  each  time  she  found  McGill  more  rambling 
and  confused;  and  though  he  roused  at  the  sound  of  her 
voice,  he  always  thought  she  was  Sheila.  Corporal  Marks 
looked  more  dejected  than  ever,  but  he  maintained  that  the 
sergeant  was  doing  finely.  Waveney  thought  it  was  only 
the  little  man's  natural  pugnacity  and  habit  of  arguing,  and 
that  he  did  not  really  believe  his  own  assertion  ;  but  though 
he  pretended  to  grumble,  he  nursed  his  friend  devotedly. 
"That  there  corporal  never  leaves  him,"  one  of  the  pen- 
sioners remarked  to  Waveney.  "You  would  think  they 
were  brothers  to  see  them — and  fight  they  would,  too, 
about  those  plaguey  Sepoys,  that  you  might  have  taken  them 

SS 


"  A  Noticeable  Man,  with  Large  Grey  Eyes" 

for  a  pair  of  kilkenny  cats.  But  bless  you,  miss,  it  was 
just  for  the  fun  of  it." 

The  days  slipped  away  all  too  fast ;  and  one  morning  Mollie 
awoke  with  the  thought  that  only  one  whole  day  remained 
before  Waveney  left  home. 

They  were  very  busy  all  the  morning,  packing  her  box,  and 
in  the  afternoon  Waveney,  who  felt  restless  and  rather  low- 
spirited  at  the  sight  of  Mollie' s  woe-begone  face,  proposed 
they  should  visit  their  favourite  haunts,  the  lime  avenue,  old 
Ranelagh  and  the  Embankment. 

' '  It  is  so  warm,  and  the  house  feels  so  stuffy  ! ' '  she  added ; 
for  Waveney  loved  air  and  exercise,  and  would  gladly  have 
been  out  of  doors  the  greater  part  of  the  day. 

Mollie  willingly  assented  to  this,  but  she  was  languid  and 
out  of  spirits,  and  soon  grew  tired  ;  so  they  sat  down  under 
an  acacia  in  old  Ranelagh  and  watched  the  children  playing 
round  them.  It  was  one  of  those  golden  days  of  September, 
when  the  very  air  seems  impregnated  with  strange  sweet 
fragrance,  when  one  thinks  of  waving  corn-fields,  and  how 
the  wheat  ripples  in  the  breeze  like  a  yellow  sea;  and  of 
deep,  quiet  lanes — with  nut  copses  and  blackberry  thickets — 
or,  better  still,  of  a  hillside  clothed  with  purple  heather,  as 
though  Nature  had  flung  one  of  her  royal  robes  aside.  A 
day  when  the  grand  old  earth  seemed  mellow  and  ripe  for  the 
sickle  of  old  Time,  and  a  soft  sadness  and  sense  of  quiet 
brooding  are  over  everything.  "The  summer  is  over,"  it 
seemed  to  say,  "and  the  fleeting  shows  of  youth,  and  the 
fruits  of  the  earth  are  garnered  in  Nature's  storehouse,  and 
the  feast  of  all  good  things  is  ready ;  so  eat  and  enjoy,  and  be 
thankful." 

The  sisters  were  sitting  hand  in  hand,  and  Waveney' s  small 
face  looked  pinched  and  long  from  inward  fretting,  for  she 
was  one  who  took  the  troubles  of  life  with  outward  calmness, 
and  chafed  under  them  inwardly ;  but  the  sunshine,  and  the 
crisp,  sweet  air  and  the  soft  patter  of  red  and  yellow  leaves, 
brought  their  message  of  comfort. 

"Mollie,"  she  said,  trying  to  speak  cheerfully,  "I  am 
thinking  what  a  beautiful  world  it  is,  and  how  good  life  is, 
after  all,  in  spite  of  worries.  Here  we  are,  making  ourselves 
miserable  because  I  have  to  go  away  to-morrow.  Do  you 
know,  we  are  like  those  two  foolish  children  we  saw  that  day 
when  father  took  us  in  the  country.  Don't  you  remember 
how  they  cried  because  their  nurse  wanted  them  to  go  down  a 

89 


Mollie's  Prince 

lane — it  was  so  dark  and  narrow,  they  said,  and  they  were 
sure  the  wolves  would  eat  them  up ;  but  the  nurse  knew  there 
was  that  lovely  open  meadow  beyond.  Do  you  read  my  little 
parable,  dear?" 

"Yes,  I  think  so,"  returned  Mollie;  but  she  spoke  doubt- 
fully. Waveney  was  rather  prone  to  moralise  when  she  found 
herself  alone  with  Mollie.  She  called  it  "  thinking  aloud." 
Mollie  was  her  other  self.  She  could  tell  her  things  that  she 
would  not  have  breathed  to  any  other  creature. 

"  Well,  you  see,"  went  on  Waveney,  "one  has  steep  little 
bits  of  road  now  and  then,  like  that  poor  King  of  Corinth — 
Sisyphus — was  not  that  his  name  ?  We  have  to  roll  our  stone 
up  the  hill  Difficulty ;  but  one  never  knows  what  may  happen 
next.  By  the  bye,  Mollie,  I  rather  fancy  that  Monsieur 
Blackie  only  pretends  to  play  at  things,  and  that  he  is  really  a 
clever  man.  There  is  something  I  cannot  make  out  about 
him.  He  is  mysterious.  And  then,  why  did  he  buy  '  King 
Canute'  ?' ' 

"Because  his  friend  wanted  a  historical  picture,"  returned 
Mollie,  who  always  believed  what  people  said. 

"I  know  he  told  us  so,"  replied  Waveney,  thoughtfully. 
"  Mollie,  I  have  a  sort  of  conviction  that  you  will  often  see 
him — that  he  means  to  turn  up  pretty  frequently  at  Cleveland 
Terrace. ' ' 

"Whatever  makes  you  think  so?"  asked  Mollie,  much 
astonished  at  this.  "  What  a  ridiculous  idea,  Wave  !  when 
you  told  him  yourself  that  you  were  leaving  home  to-morrow." 

"  But  he  does  not  come  to  see  me,"  retorted  Waveney;  and 
then  she  added,  hastily,  "he  is  a  friendly  sort  of  person,  and 
comes  to  see  us  all." 

"Oh,  yes,  of  course,"  returned  Mollie,  perfectly  satisfied 
with  this  view  of  the  case.  "  Then  I  daresay  he  will  come 
sometimes  when  father  is  at  home.  He  asked  me  very  par- 
ticularly when  he  was  likely  to  be  in,  and  if  I  went  out  in  the 
afternoon,  and  I  said,  '  Oh,  dear  no,  I  always  go  out  early  to 
do  the  marketing,  and  then  I  am  too  tired  to  go  out  again.' 
Waveney,  he  did  look  so  kindly  at  me,  when  I  said  that. 
'  Walking  tires  you,  then.  What  a  pity  !'  and  he  seemed  quite 
sorry  for  me. ' ' 

"  He  is  a  nice  little  Black  Prince,"  replied  Waveney,  rather 
absently.  The  children  had  left  the  gardens  with  their  nurses, 
and  the  place  was  now  quite  deserted.  The  next  moment  a 
gentleman  crossed  the  lime  avenue,  and  walked  slowly  down 

90 


"  A  Noticeable  Man,  with  Large  Grey  Eyes" 

the  path.     As  he  passed  their  bench,  he  looked  at  the  two 
girls  in  a  quiet,  observant  way,  and  passed  on. 

As  soon  as  he  was  out  of  hearing,  Waveney  said,  a  little 
wickedly,  "  Mollie,  we  have  found  him  at  last,  '  the  notice- 
able man,  with  large  grey  eyes.'  " 

For  this  was  an  old  joke  of  theirs.  They  had  been  reading 
Wordsworth  together  one  summer's  day  on  this  very  bench, 
and  when  Waveney  had  come  to  this  stanza  she  had  laid  down 
the  book.  "  I  like  that  description,  Mollie,"  she  had  said; 
"it  gives  one  a  pleasant  idea  of  a  person.  'A  noticeable 
man,  with  large  grey  eyes. '  Now,  I  wonder  if  we  shall  ever 
see  any  one  answering  to  that  description." 

Mollie  laughed,  and  looked  interested  when  Waveney  said 
this ;  but  a  moment  later  she  whispered,  "  Hush  !  he  is  coming 
back ;"  and  then,  to  Mollie' s  alarm — for  she  was  very  shy  and 
timid — he  stopped  and  lifted  his  hat. 

"Will  you  have  the  kindness  to  inform  me,"  he  said,  ad- 
dressing Mollie  in  a  peculiarly  clear,  mellow  voice,  "  if  this 
path  will  take  me  to  Dunedin  Terrace.  I  am  not  well  ac- 
quainted with  Chelsea." 

Mollie  blushed  and  looked  confused.  Topography  was  not 
her  strong  point.  "I  think  so.  I  am  not  quite  sure.  Do 
you  know,  Waveney?" 

"  Yes,  but  it  is  rather  a  roundabout  way.    Dunedin  Terrace 
is  quite  half  a  mile  away  ;"  and  then  Waveney  rose  from  the 
bench  and  considered  her  bearings,  while  the  stranger  quietly 
awaited  her  decision. 

He  was  a  tall  man,  and  though  his  face  was  plain,  there  was 
something  in  his  expression  that  attracted  notice,  an  air  of 
unmistakable  refinement  and  culture.  The  keen  grey  eyes 
had  already  noted  Mollie' s  lovely  face ;  now  they  were  fixed 
on  the  plainer  sister. 

"  I  think  I  can  direct  you  properly  now,"  observed  Wave- 
ney, with  her  usual  brightness ;  "  but  it  is  just  a  little  compli- 
cated. You  must  go  out  of  this  gate,  and  cross  Cleveland 
Terrace,  take  the  second  turning  to  the  right,  and  the  first  to 
the  left,  and  you  will  be  in  Upper  Dunedin  Terrace." 

"  Thank  you  very  much ;"  and  then  he  repeated  her  direc- 
tions gravely  and  slowly ;  and  then,  lifting  his  hat  with  an- 
other "Thank  you,"  walked  quickly  away. 

"  Yes,  I  was  right,"  continued  Waveney  ;  "  he  is  certainly 
a  noticeable  man  ;  and  what  large,  clear  eyes."  But  Mollie 
shrugged  her  shoulders  a  little  pettishly. 

9* 


Mollie's  Prince 

"I  think  he  was  rather  ugly,"  she  remarked,  "and  he  is 
quite  old — five-and-thirty,  at  least ;  and  did  you  notice  his 
shabby  coat — why,  it  was  almost  as  shabby  as  father's." 

"  No,"  returned  Waveney  ;  "I  did  not  notice  that.  I  was 
only  thinking  what  a  grand-looking  man  he  was,  and  he  spoke 
so  nicely,  too  ! "  Then,  as  Moliie  was  evidently  not  interested, 
she  changed  the  subject ;  and  they  sat  talking  until  it  was  time 
for  them  to  go  home  to  tea. 

It  was  a  melancholy  evening,  in  spite  of  all  Waveney's 
efforts.  Mr.  Ward  was  tired  and  dull,  and  Noel  was  out  of 
humour ;  but  his  sisters,  who  understood  him  thoroughly,  knew 
that  this  was  only  his  mode  of  expressing  his  feelings. 

So  he  drew  up  his  coat-collar  and  answered  snappishly  when- 
ever Waveney  addressed  him  ;  and  grew  red,  and  pretended  to 
be  deaf,  when  she  alluded  to  her  going  away. 

And  when  she  was  bidding  him  good-night,  and  her  fingers 
touched  his  rough  hair  caressingly,  he  threw  back  his  head 
with  an  annoyed  jerk. 

"  I  hate  having  my  hair  pulled,"  he  said,  crossly;  "  so  give 
over,  old  Storm-and-Stress  ;"  and  then  he  whistled  and  walked 
out  of  the  room  with  his  chin  in  the  air ;  but  not  before  Wave- 
ney saw  that  his  glasses  were  misty. 

"Moliie,  darling,  remember  I  shall  be  home  on  Sunday,  and 
it  is  Tuesday  now,"  were  Waveney's  last  words  as  she  jumped 
into  the  train,  and  her  father  closed  the  door. 

Waveney  stood  at  the  window  until  the  dark  tunnel  hid 
them  from  her  sight.  Moliie' s  sweet  face  was  swollen  with 
crying,  and  her  father's  countenance  was  sad  and  full  of 
care ;  the  child  whom  he  had  cherished  with  peculiar  tender- 
ness was  leaving  his  roof  because  he  was  incapable  of  pro- 
viding for  his  household  properly.  He  had  been  a  failure  all 
his  life,  and  he  knew  it ;  but  it  was  bitter  to  him  that  his  old 
friend  Althea  should  know  it,  too. 

Waveney  took  a  cab  when  she  reached  Dereham.  The 
driver  touched  his  hat  when  she  told  him  to  drive  to  the  Red 
House,  Erpingham. 

"I  know  it,"  he  said,  as  he  took  off  his  horse's  nose-bag. 
" There  ain't  a  cab-driver  in  Dereham  that  don't  know  the 
ladies  at  the  Red  House;  they  give  us  a  supper  in  Christmas 
week,  and  there  is  another  for  the  costers  that  use  their  don- 
keys well — and  it  is  a  rare  spread,  too;"  and  then  he  smacked 
his  lips  and  jumped  on  the  box. 

Waveney  looked  out  and  tried  to  interest  herself  in  the 

92 


"  A  Noticeable  Man,  with  Large  Grey  Eyes" 

various  objects  they  passed ;  but  her  head  felt  heavy  as  lead. 
The  common  looked  lovely  in  the  afternoon  sunshine,  and,  as 
before,  the  children  were  dancing  in  and  out  the  trees.  Some 
little  boys  were  sailing  a  boat  on  the  pond,  and  a  Newfound- 
land was  swimming  across  it  with  a  stick  in  his  mouth.  Some 
riders  were  cantering  over  the  grass.  Every  one  seemed  gay 
and  animated  and  full  of  life  ;  dogs  barked,  children  laughed, 
and  the  cawing  of  rooks  filled  the  air. 

As  they  drove  in  at  the  lodge  gates  the  two  little  Yorkshire 
terriers  ran  out  barking,  and  the  elderly  maid  Mitchell  came 
to  the  door. 

"My  mistresses  are  out,  ma'am,"  she  said,  pleasantly, 
"but  Nurse  Marks  has  orders  to  make  you  comfortable. 
Will  you  please  to  go  in,  and  I  will  see  to  the  box  and  pay 
the  cabman.  No,  ma'am,"  as  Waveney  timidly  offered  her 
some  money.  "Miss  Harford  always  pays  the  cabmen 
herself. ' ' 

"Aye,  and  pays  them  well,  too,"  observed  the  driver,  with 
a  complacent  grin.  "No  arguing  with  a  poor  chap  who  has 
to  work  hard  for  his  living  about  an  extra  sixpence." 

Waveney  felt  very  strange  and  forlorn  as  she  stepped  into 
the  hall,  with  Fuss  and  Fury  barking  excitedly  round  her,  and 
then  she  saw  a  little  old  woman  with  a  very  long  nose,  and 
hair  as  white  as  snow  bundling  down  the  wide  staircase  to 
meet  her ;  for  no  other  word  could  describe  Nurse  Marks' s 
rolling  and  peculiar  gait. 

"She  is  the  most  wonderful  little  old  woman  I  have  ever 
seen,"  wrote  Waveney,  in  her  first  letter  home.  "If  you 
were  to  dress  her  in  a  red  cloak  and  peaked  hat  she  would 
make  an  excellent  Mother  Hubbard,  or  the  '  old  woman  who 
lived  in  her  shoe,'  or  that  ambitious  old  person  who  tried  to 
brush  the  cobwebs  from  the  sky.  To  see  her  poking  that 
long  nose  of  hers  into  corners  is  quite  killing.  She  has 
bright  eyes  like  a  dormouse,  and  a  cosy  voice — do  you  know 
what  I  mean  by  that  ?— and  she  wears  the  funniest  cap,  with 
a  black  bow  at  the  top.  But  there !  you  must  see  her  for 
yourself. ' ' 

"My  ladies  are  out,  dearie,"  she  began  at  once,  rather 
breathlessly.  "Miss  Doreen  is  at  the  Home,  and  Mrs. 
Mainwaring  has  sent  for  Miss  Althea  unexpectedly,  to  go  to 
some  grand  At  Home ;  but  she  will  be  back  to  dinner,  and 
she  begged  that  you  would  excuse  her  absence,  and  I  am 
going  to  take  you  to  my  room  and  give  you  some  tea;  for 

93 


Mollie's  Prince 

you  are  tired,  dearie,  I  know;"  and  then  Nurse  Marks  led 
the  way  upstairs,  and  Waveney  followed,  feeling  as  though  she 
were  the  heroine  of  a  fairy-story  and  that  some  benevolent 
fairy  had  her  in  tow. 

' '  My  ladies  always  calls  this  the  Cubby-house, ' '  observed 
Nurse  Marks,  in  a  proud  tone,  "  and  to  my  thinking  it  is  the 
nicest  room  in  the  house,  though  it  is  odd-shaped,  as  Mitchell 
says,  and  a  trifle  low." 

It  was  oddly  shaped  indeed.  One  corner  had  been  cut  off, 
and  the  window,  a  wide  one,  had  been  set  in  an  extraordinary 
angle,  so  that  part  of  the  room  was  insufficiently  lighted. 
Here  there  was  a  large  Japanese  screen,  which  hid  the  bed  and 
washstand. 

A  round  table  was  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  and  an  old 
carved  wardrobe  and  a  nursery  cupboard  occupied  the  wall 
space.  Some  comfortable-looking  rocking  chairs,  and  a  worn 
old  couch,  gave  it  a  cosy  aspect ;  but  the  chief  feature  of  the 
room  was  the  number  of  photographs  and  water-colour  paint- 
ings that  covered  the  walls,  while  framed  ones  stood  by  dozens 
on  the  mantelpiece  and  chest-of-drawers. 

One  of  them  at  once  attracted  Waveney.  "Why,  that  is 
the  corporal,"  she  said,  in  surprise.  "  Corporal  Marks,  I 
mean;"  and  she  spoke  in  puzzled  tones. 

"Aye,  that's  Jonadab, "  returned  Nurse  Marks,  complacently. 
"  It  is  a  grand  picture,  and  his  medals  come  out  finely.  Dinah 
thought  a  heap  of  that  photo;"  and  then  the  bright  dor- 
mouse eyes  looked  at  Waveney,  curiously.  "Well,  it  beats 
me  that  you  should  know  brother  Jonadab.  After  all,  the 
world  is  not  so  big  as  we  think  it. ' ' 

"Of  course  I  know  Corporal  Marks,"  returned  Waveney, 
excitedly ;  but  there  was  a  lump  in  her  throat,  too,  at  the 
sight  of  the  little  corporal's  familiar  face,  with  its  round,  sur- 
prised eyes  and  shock  of  grey  hair.  "And  I  know  Sergeant 
McGill,  too." 

Then,  at  the  mention  of  McGill,  Nurse  Marks  sat  down 
and  indulged  in  a  hearty  laugh. 

"Well,  now,  if  that  is  not  like  a  book  !  And  you  are  the 
young  lady  that  Jonadab  is  always  telling  about !  Is  it  not 
comfortable  to  know  that  '  their  good  works  do  follow  them'  ? 
That's  true,  even  in  this  world,  for  it  stands  to  reason  that 
things  can't  be  hidden  for  ever.  Sit  down,  dearie,  and  I 
will  pour  you  out  some  tea.  You  are  a  bit  homesick  and 
strange,  but   that  will  pass,  so   keep   up   your   heart,  dear 

94 


The  Pansy  Room  and  Cosy  Nook 

lamb ;"  and  Nurse  Marks  poked  her  long  nose  into  the  tea- 
pot, for  she  was  short-sighted  ;  and  Waveney  watched  her  a 
little  anxiously  ;  but  she  need  not  have  feared  :  Nurse  Marks 
was  a  clever  woman,  and  could  always  measure  her  distances 
accurately. 

"  Aye,  he  is  a  grand  man,  McGill,"  she  remarked,  as  she 
cut  some  delicate  bread-and-butter  with  a  practised  hand. 
"  But  he  is  not  long  for  this  world.  Jonadab  will  miss  him 
sorely,  I  fear;  they  are  a  queer  pair  to  look  at  them,  but 
they  are  just  bound  up  in  each  other.  They  are  like  a  couple 
of  old  children,  I  tell  them  ;  they  quarrel  just  for  the  sake  of 
making  it  up.  But  there,  as  Dinah  used  to  say — poor  thing ! 
— her  man  was  fine  at  argifying." 

"Was  Dinah  your  brother's  wife?" 

"Aye,  dearie,  and  Jonadab  thought  a  deal  of  her,  and 
grieved  sore  when  the  dear  Lord  took  her.  You  will  be 
wondering  at  his  name,  maybe,  for  it  is  out  of  the  common, 
is  Jonadab ;  but  mother  used  to  tell  us  that  when  the  boy 
came,  father  was  so  proud  and  pleased  that  he  went  at  once 
to  the  Bible  for  a  name.  And  presently  he  came  to  mother, 
looking  as  pleased  as  possible,  as  though  he  had  found  a 
treasure.  '  Rachel,'  he  says,  in  a  loud  voice,  *  there  is  not  a 
finer  fellow  to  my  thinking  than  Jonadab,  the  son  of  Rechab, 
and  he  was  dead  against  the  drink,  too,  and  it  is  Jonadab 
that  we  will  call  him;'  and  so  Jonadab  it  was,"  finished 
Nurse  Marks,  complacently. 


CHAPTER   XII. 

THE   PANZY   ROOM   AND   COSY   NOOK. 

"  There  is  rosemary,  that  is  for  remembrance.  .  .  . 
And  there  is  pansies  that's  for  thoughts." 

Shakespeare. 

"That  way  madness  lies;  let  me  shun  that." 

King  Lear. 

It  was  impossible  for  Waveney  not  to  be  amused  by  Nurse 
Marks'  quaint  tales  ;  her  sense  of  humour  was  too  strong,  and 
the  atmosphere  of  the  Cubby- house  was  so  full  of  comfort  that, 
in  spite  of  herself,  her  sad  face  began  to  brighten. 

95 


Mollie's  Prince 

"  If  you  knew  Sergeant  McGill,"  she  said,  presently,  "per- 
haps you  knew  his  sweetheart,  Sheila,  too."  Then  Nurse 
Marks  smiled  and  nodded,  as  she  cut  another  appetising  slice 
of  bread-and-butter,  and  laid  it  on  Waveney's  plate — such 
sweet  home-made  bread  and  fresh,  creamy  butter  ! 

"Aye,  dearie,  I  knew  Sheila  McTavish  well,  for  when  I 
was  a  slip  of  a  girl  I  had  a  bad  illness,  and  my  mother's 
cousin,  Effie  Stuart,  took  me  back  with  her  to  the  Highlands 
to  bide  with  her  for  more  than  a  year.  The  McTavish  cot- 
tage was  next  to  ours,  and  not  a  day  passed  that  I  did  not  see 
Sheila  coming  up  from  the  loch-side  with  her  creel,  with  her 
bare  feet  and  red  petticoat,  and  maybe  a  plaid  over  her  bonnie 
brown  hair.  I  was  always  a  homely  body,  even  in  my  young 
days,  but  never  before  or  since  have  I  seen  a  lovelier  face  than 
Sheila  McTavish,  *  the  Flower  of  the  Deeside'  — that  was 
what  they  called  her." 

"Was  she  engaged  to  McGill  then?" 

"  Aye,  my  dearie.  She  had  broken  the  sixpence  with  him, 
but  he  was  away  in  India  then.  I  remember  one  day,  as  I 
sat  on  the  churchyard  wall,  Sheila  came  over  the  moor,  and 
she  had  a  sprig  of  white  heather  in  her  hand.  She  held  it 
up  to  me  with  a  smile.  '  It  is  good  luck,  Kezia,'  she  said, 
and  her  eyes  seemed  full  of  brown  sunshine,  '  and  this  morn- 
ing I  have  heard  from  Fergus  McGill  himself,  and  it  is  he 
who  is  the  guid  lad  with  his  letters.  He  is  coming  home,  he 
says,  and  then  we  are  to  be  wed,  and  it  is  the  white  heather 
that  will  bring  us  luck.'  Ah,  dearie,  before  three  weeks  were 
over,  Sheila,  our  sweet  Flower  of  the  Deeside,  lay  in  her 
coffin,  and  they  put  the  white  heather  on  her  dead  breast ; 
and  when  Fergus  McGill  came  home  there  was  only  the  grave 
under  the  rowan  tree.  There,  there,  it  is  a  queer  world," 
finished  Nurse  Marks,  "  and  there  is  many  a  love-story  left 
unfinished,  for  'man'  (and  woman,  too)  'is  born  into  trouble,' 
and  I  know  that  the  women  get  the  worst  of  it  sometimes ; 
for  it  stands  to  reason,"  continued  the  old  woman,  garrulously, 
"that  they  think  a  deal  more  of  a  love  tale.  Now,  as  we 
have  finished  tea,  shall  I  take  you  to  your  room,  my  dearie  ? 
It  is  called  the  Pansy  Room,  and  is  close  to  mine.  Miss 
Althea  is  a  grand  one  for  giving  names.  All  the  bedrooms 
are  called  after  flowers,  to  match  the  paper  and  cretonne. 
There  is  the  Rose  Room  and  the  Forget-me-not  and  the  Pink 
Room,  and  the  Leafy  Room,  and  the  Marigold  Room,  where 
they  put  gentlemen." 

96 


The  Pansy  Room  and  Cosy  Nook 

"  Which  is  Miss  Althea's?"  asked  Waveney,  quickly. 

"Oh,  the  Rose  Room.  Miss  Althea  has  a  passion  for 
roses.  Miss  Doreen  sleeps  in  the  Forget-me-not  Room; 
everything  is  blue  there.  The  other  rooms  are  for  their 
guests,  but  near  the  servants'  quarters  there  are  two  pretty 
little  attics  called  '  Faith'  and  '  Charity,'  where  they  put  shop- 
girls who  have  broken  down  and  need  a  rest ;  and  these  are 
never  empty  all  the  year  round.  There  is  a  little  sitting- 
room  attached,  where  they  take  their  meals.  There,  they  are 
crossing  the  tennis-lawn  this  moment  from  the  Porch  House. 
The  tall  one  is  Laura  Cairns ;  she  has  had  an  operation  and 
has  only  just  left  the  hospital,  and  the  little  fat  one  is  Ellen 
Sturt;  there  is  not  much  the  matter  with  her  except  hard 
work  and  too  much  standing." 

"Oh,  how  good  they  are!"  thought  Waveney,  as  Nurse 
Marks  bundled  down  the  passage  before  her.  "Everyone 
seems  to  have  something  to  say  in  their  praise,  even  the  cab- 
driver  ; ' '  and  then  she  looked  round  the  Pansy  Room  well 
pleased.  It  was  so  fresh,  and  dainty,  and  pretty,  and,  after 
her  room  at  Cleveland  Terrace,  so  luxuriously  comfortable. 

For  there  was  actually  a  cosy-looking  couch,  and  an  easy- 
chair,  and  beautiful  flowers  on  the  toilet-table,  and  some 
hanging  book-shelves  full  of  interesting  books. 

The  window  looked  over  the  tennis-lawn  with  the  Porch 
House,  where  the  girls  were  pacing  arm-in-arm.  One  of 
them  looked  up  at  the  window,  and  smiled  a  little  as  Waveney 
gazed  down  at  her.  Nurse  Marks,  who  was  already  beginning 
to  unpack,  went  on  talking  briskly. 

"It  was  Miss  Althea's  thought,  but  Miss  Doreen  helped 
her  to  carry  it  out.  It  is  always  like  that  with  my  ladies, 
they  are  just  the  two  halves  of  a  pair  of  scissors,  but  they 
work  together  finely.  What  one  says  the  other  does.  It  is 
like  the  precious  ointment,  that's  what  it  is,  Miss  Ward,  my 
dear !  and  never  a  misunderstanding  or  a  contrary  word 
between  them. 

"The  girls  come  for  a  month,  and  sometimes  they  stay 
longer ;  and  if  they  are  well  enough  they  wait  on  themselves, 
or  if  not,  Reynolds,  the  under  housemaid,  sees  to  them ;  and 
when  the  weather  permits  they  are  in  the  garden,  or  on  the 
common  the  whole  day  long,  and  they  have  the  run  of  the 
Porch  House,  too,  and  help  themselves  to  books  from  the 
library ;  they  are  no  trouble  and  fall  in  with  our  ways,  and 
the  blessing  the  Red  House  is  to  some  of  those  poor  things  is 
7  97 


Mollie's  Prince 

past  my  telling.  Now,  dearie,  shall  I  hang  these  things  in 
the  wardrobe  for  you — there  is  plenty  of  room  and  to  spare. 
And  then  I  will  go  back  and  finish  a  bit  of  mending  for  Miss 
Althea." 

Waveney  was  not  sorry  to  be  left  alone ;  she  wanted  to 
begin  a  letter  to  Mollie.  She  had  so  much  already  to  tell 
her.  So  she  sat  down  at  the  writing-table,  and  her  pen  flew 
over  the  paper,  until  a  quick,  light  tap  at  her  door  roused  her, 
and  Miss  Althea  entered. 

Waveney  gave  a  vivid  description  of  her  to  Mollie  after- 
wards. "  She  looked  so  grand  and  stately  that  I  felt  quite 
shy ;  but  her  dress  was  charming.  It  was  a  soft,  cloudy  grey, 
but  it  shimmered  as  though  it  were  streaked  with  silver,  and 
she  had  a  close  little  bonnet  that  looked  like  silver  too,  and  a 
ruff  of  fine  cobwebby  lace  round  her  long  neck.  I  fancy  she 
always  wears  a  ruff,  and  she  looked  more  like  Queen  Bess 
than  ever.  Somehow  she  is  oddly  picturesque,  and  makes 
other  people  look  commonplace  beside  her.  But  there,  you 
must  see  her  one  day  for  yourself." 

Althea  came  up  to  the  writing-table  as  Waveney  rose,  a 
little  confused,  and  held  out  her  hand  to  the  girl  with  one  of 
her  winning  smiles. 

"I  was  so  sorry  to  be  out  when  you  arrived,"  she  said, 
kindly,  "but  my  aunt,  Mrs.  Mainwaring,  sent  for  me  most 
unexpectedly.     I  hope  Nurse  Marks  took  good  care  of  you." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  returned  Waveney,  shyly,  "  she  was  very  kind." 

"Oh,  my  dear  old  nurse  is  the  kindest  creature  in  the 
world.  She  literally  bubbles  over  with  benevolence.  Is  not 
the  Cubby- house  delightful?  Did  you  see  the  toy  cup-board, 
where  all  our  dear  old  dolls  and  toys  are  stored?  Marks 
won't  part  with  one  of  them  ;  she  is  quite  huffy  if  we  propose 
to  give  them  away.  When  children  come  to  the  house,  she 
lets  them  play  with  them  under  her  own  eye.  One  day  she 
came  into  the  library  with  a  long  face  to  tell  me  that  little 
Audrey  Neale  had  broken  Bopeep's  arm  ;"  and  Althea  laughed 
quite  merrily ;  then  she  looked  at  the  clock  on  the  mantel- 
piece, and  uttered  an  exclamation:  "  Half-past  seven,  and  I 
am  not  dressed.  What  will  Peachey  say?  I  will  come  back 
and  fetch  you  directly  the  gong  sounds;"  and  then  Waveney 
was  left  to  finish  her  letter. 

She  did  not  see  Miss  Doreen  until  they  entered  the  dining- 
room,  and  then  she  welcomed  her  very  cordially.  To  Wave- 
ney the  dinner-table  was  a  revelation.     She  had  never  taken 

9S 


The  Pansy  Room  and  Cosy  Nook 

a  meal  out  of  her  own  home,  and  the  soft,  shaded  lights,  the 
hot-house  fruits  and  flowers,  the  handsome  silver,  and  the 
fineness  of  the  damask,  excited  her  wonderment.  The  ser- 
vant moved  so  noiselessly  over  the  thick  carpets,  and  then  she 
thought  of  Ann  stumping  round  the  table  in  her  heavy  boots. 

Ah,  they  would  be  just  sitting  down  to  supper,  and  Mollie 
would  be  mixing  the  salad  as  usual ;  for  Everard  Ward  had 
learnt  to  enjoy  a  salad  in  his  Paris  days,  and  would  sup  con- 
tentedly on  bread-and-cheese  or  even  bread-and-butter,  if 
only  he  could  have  a  handful  of  cress,  or  a  stalk  or  two  of 
endive,  to  give  it  a  relish. 

Doreen  and  Althea  were  quite  aware  that  the  forlorn  little 
stranger  was  not  at  her  ease.  The  small,  childish  face  looked 
subdued  and  thoughtful,  and  the  dark,  spirituelle  eyes  were 
sad  in  their  wistfulness  \  but  with  their  usual  tact  and  kind- 
ness they  left  her  alone,  and  talked  to  each  other  in  their 
cheerful  way. 

Althea  gave  a  description  of  her  afternoon  party,  which  was 
full  of  gentle  humour ;  and  Doreen  had  a  great  deal  to  say 
about  the  Home.  She  had  had  tea  with  old  Mrs.  Wheeler — 
and  as  usual  the  poor  old  soul  was  full  of  her  grievances 
against  Miss  Mason. 

"  She  is  a  cantankerous,  east-windy  sort  of  body,"  went  on 
Doreen,  with  a  laugh,  as  she  helped  herself  to  some  grapes, 
"  and  she  leads  poor  Miss  Mason  a  life.  But  there  !  one  must 
not  judge  her,  she  has  led  a  hard,  grinding  sort  of  existence. 
Althea,  these  grapes  are  unusuallv  fine  ;  don't  you  think  Laura 
Cairns  would  enjoy  some?  Ellen  likes  pears  better;"  and 
then  Doreen  heaped  up  a  plate  with  fine  fruit  and  bade 
Mitchell  take  it  to  the  Brown  Parlour. 

When  the  sisters  rose  from  the  table  Althea  touched  Wave- 
ney's  arm. 

"  Come  with  me  to  the  library,"  she  said,  in  a  kind  voice. 
"  We  shall  sit  there  this  evening.  We  do  not  often  use  the 
drawing-room — it  is  a  very  big  room,  and  we  always  feel 
rather  lost  in  it." 

"I  call  this  big,  too,"  remarked  Waveney,  in  rather  an 
awed  voice.  She  had  never  seen  such  a  beautiful  room  in  her 
life ;  it  was  better  than  any  of  the  dream  rooms  at  Kitlands. 

The  grand  oriel  window,  with  its  cushioned  seat ;  the  carved 
oak  furniture,  and  bookcases  filled  with  handsomely-bound 
books  ;  the  fine  engravings  on  the  walls  ; — all  excited  her  ad- 
miration.    But  when  Althea  drew  back  a  curtain  and  showed 

99 


Mollie's  Prince 

her  a  tiny  room  hidden  away  behind  it,  with  a  glass-door 
opening  on  the  terrace,  she  could  not  refrain  from  an  exclama- 
tion of  delight. 

"  Oh,  what  a  dear  little  room  !"  she  said,  quite  naturally. 

"  Yes,  I  call  it  my  cosy  nook.  But  it  is  not  really  a  room, 
it  is  merely  a  recess."  And  Waveney  thought  how  well  Miss 
Althea's  name  suited  it.  There  was  a  small  writing-table 
prettily  fitted-up,  an  easy-chair,  and  a  work-table. 

"  I  am  so  glad  you  have  taken  a  fancy  to  it,"  went  on  Miss 
Althea — and  she  looked  very  much  pleased — "  because  this 
is  to  be  your  little  sanctum.  You  see,  it  would  never  do  for 
me  to  have  my  reader  and  companion  far  away  from  me. 
And  yet  I  imagine  we  should  both  find  it  irksome  to  be  always 
together — even  my  sister  and  I  could  not  stand  that ;  but,  you 
see,  when  the  curtain  is  dropped,  you  will  be  quite  private." 

"And  it  is  really  for  me!"  and  Waveney's  eyes  sparkled 
with  pleasure. 

Then  Miss  Althea  smiled,  and  put  her  hand  kindly  on  the 
girl's  arm. 

"I  want  you  to  be  happy  with  us,  my  dear,  and  not  to 
look  upon  us  as  strangers,  because  in  the  old  days  your  father 
was  a  dear  friend  of  ours.  Last  night  an  idea  struck  me.  Do 
you  think  you  would  feel  more  at  home  with  us  if  we  were  to 
call  you  by  your  Christian  name  ?  You  have  such  a  pretty 
name,  and  it  is  so  uncommon." 

"Oh,  please  do,"  returned  Waveney,  flushing  with  shy 
pleasure.  "  It  was  silly  of  me,  but  I  was  so  dreading  that 
*  Miss  Ward ;'  "  and  somehow  a  load  seemed  lifted  off  her  at 
that  moment. 

"  She  is  such  a  little  childish  thing,"  observed  Miss  Althea 
afterwards;  "and  yet  she  has  plenty  of  character.  We  are 
very  unconventional  people,  Doreen,  you  and  I ;  but  I  never 
could  endure  these  artificial  barriers.  My  dignity,  such  as  it 
is,  is  innate  ;  it  does  not  need  bolstering  up.  I  could  not  be 
stiff  and  proper  with  Everard  Ward's  daughter;"  and  then  a 
strangely  sad  look  came  into  Althea's  eyes,  as  though  some 
ghost  from  the  past  had  crossed  her  path  ;  "no,  certainly  not 
to  Everard  Ward's  daughter;"  and  Doreen  smiled  as  though 
she  understood  her. 

Doreen's  world  was  inhabited  by  warm-blooded  human 
beings;  no  ghostly  visitants  ever  haunted  her.  "I  am  a 
woman  without  a  story,"  she  would  say.  "  Most  people  have 
some  sort  of  romance  in  their  lives — even  unmarried  women 


The  Pansy  Room  and  Cosy  Nook 

have  their  unfinished  idylls  ;  but  my  life  has  been  bare  prose." 
But  she  always  laughed  when  she  made  these  speeches,  for 
there  was  nothing  morbid  in  Doreen's  character. 

Althea  proposed,  as  the  evening  was  mild  and  balmy,  that 
they  should  take  a  turn  in  the  garden. 

**  It  will  be  very  pleasant  on  the  terrace,  and  in  the  kitchen- 
garden,"  she  remarked,  "but,  of  course,  we  must  avoid  the 
grass.  Are  not  these  shut-in  lawns  pretty?  Through  that 
arch,  if  it  were  light  enough,  you  would  have  a  glimpse  of 
my  flower-garden.  I  call  it  mine,  because  I  give  it  my 
special  supervision.  Doreen  takes  more  interest  in  the 
kitchen-garden,  and  when  I  boast  of  my  roses  and  begonias, 
she  is  dilating  on  the  excellence  of  her  strawberries  and 
tomatoes. ' ' 

"I  think  I  should  care  most  for  the  flower-garden,"  ob- 
served Waveney.  And  then,  of  her  own  accord,  she  began 
telling  Miss  Althea  about  the  pensioners'  little  gardens,  and 
the  corporal's  flowers. 

Althea  listened  with  much  interest,  and  then,  little  by  little, 
her  quiet  questions  and  sympathetic  manner  induced  Waveney 
to  break  through  her  shy  reserve,  and  speak  of  her  home. 
Althea  soon  found  out  all  she  wanted  to  know  :  the  home  that 
was  so  perfect  in  Waveney' s  eyes,  the  little  warm  nest  that 
held  all  her  dear  ones,  seemed  meagre  and  bare  to  the  elder 
woman,  who  had  been  used  to  luxury  all  her  life,  and  had 
never  had  a  want  ungratified. 

As  the  girl  talked  on  in  a  naive  way,  all  at  once  a  vision 
rose  before  Althea's  eyes  of  a  brilliantly-lighted  ball-room, 
and  of  a  fair,  boyish-looking  man,  with  stephanotis  in  his 
buttonhole,  standing  before  her  with  eager  looks. 

"It  is  our  valse,  Althea,  and  I  have  been  looking  forward 

to  it  all  the  evening."     And  then — and  then But  she 

started  from  her  reverie  with  a  quick  feeling  of  shame.  Why 
had  these  thoughts  come  to  her?  He  was  Dorothy's  lover, 
not  hers.  Had  he  ever  cared  for  her  really?  "It  was  all  a 
mistake.  It  was  not  he  who  was  to  blame,  it  was  I — I !"  and 
even  in  the  September  darkness  she  smote  her  hands  angrily 
together.  The  love  had  been  in  her  imagination ;  it  had 
never  existed — never.  She  had  bartered  her  warm  woman's 
heart  for  a  shadow,  and  alas,  alas !  it  was  not  in  Althea's 
nature  to  change.  "  If  I  love  once,  I  love  for  ever,"  she 
had  once  said  in  a  bitter  moment  to  Doreen.  How  she 
repented  that  speech  afterwards!       "No;    you  do  not  un- 

IOI 


Mollie's   Prince 

derstand,  neither  do  I ;  but  I  think  it  is  my  nature  to  be 
faithful." 

When  Althea  roused  from  her  brooding,  she  found  that 
Waveney  had  become  silent.  "You  were  speaking  of  your 
sister,  were  you  not?"  she  said,  gently.  "Some  one  told 
me,"  she  continued,  a  little  vaguely,  "that  she  was  very 
pretty." 

"Oh,  yes,"  returned  Waveney,  eagerly,  "everyone  thinks 
Mollie  quite  lovely.  It  is  such  a  pity  she  is  lame.  It  spoils 
things  so  much  for  her,  poor  darling  !  But  people  admire 
her  just  the  same — in  the  street  they  turn  round  and  stare  at 
her;  but  Mollie  never  seems  to  notice  them  a  bit.  That 
reminds  me  of  such  a  funny  speech" — and  here  Waveney  be- 
gan to  laugh.  "An  old  Irishwoman  who  works  for  us  some- 
times, once  said  to  her,  '  It  is  my  belief,  Miss  Mollie  darlint, 
that  the  Powers  above  were  after  fashioning  an  angel,  and 
then  they  thought  better  of  it,  and  changed  it  into  a  flesh- 
and-blood  woman.  For  the  angel  still  laughs  out  of  your 
eyes,  mavourneen.'  And  would  you  believe  it,  Miss  Harford, 
that  Mollie  only  burst  out  laughing  when  Biddy  said  that,  but 
I  think  it  was  beautiful." 

"  I  must  see  your  pretty  Mollie,"  returned  Althea,  thought- 
fully ;   "  but  we  must  go  in  now." 

"  I  think  I  must  tell  Moritz  that,"  she  said  to  herself,  with 
a  smile.  "  '  The  angel  still  laughs  out  of  your  eyes,  mavour- 
neen.'    How  very  like  an  Irishwoman  !" 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

CONCERNING    GUARDIAN    ANGELS   AND    ITHURIEL's    SPEAR. 

"  Though  many  a  year  has  o'er  us  roll'd 

Since  life's  bright  momingtide, 

I'm  dreaming  still  the  dream  of  old 

We  once  dreamt  side  by  side." 

Helen  Marion  Burnside. 

It  had  been  a  long,  trying  day  to  Waveney,  and  it  was  a 
great  relief  when  she  found  herself  again  in  the  Pansy  Room. 
It  was  still  early  in  the  evening ;  but  as  soon  as  the  door  had 
closed  upon  the  girl  Althea  rose  from  her  chair. 


Guardian  Angels  and  Ithuriers  Spear 

"  I  have  had  a  tiring  afternoon,  Dorrie,"  she  said,  in  rather 
a  weary  voice.  "A  well-dressed  crush  always  flattens  me — 
so  many  smart  bonnets,  and  so  few  brains  !  Somehow  society 
always  reminds  me  of  a  trifle,  all  sweetness  and  froth." 

"Aren't  you  a  little  mixed,  Althea?"  returned  her  sister, 
good-humouredly.  "There  is  froth  certainly,  but  in  my  ex- 
perience there  is  plenty  of  richness  and  sweetness  underneath, 
if  you  only  dig  deep  enough." 

"Oh,  I  daresay;"  and  then  a  droll  idea  came  to  Althea, 
and  she  laughed  softly.  "Don't  you  remember  the  ginger- 
bread queens  that  we  used  to  buy  when  we  were  children  at 
the  Medhurst  Fair,  and  how  angry  I  was  when  some  one 
stripped  the  gilt  off.  I  thought  it  was  real  gold — like  Nebu- 
chadnezzar's image.  Well,  some  of  those  fine  ladies  reminded 
me  of  the  gingerbread  queens." 

Doreen  looked  amused.  "You  are  in  a  pessimistic  mood, 
dear."  Then  she  put  her  hands  on  her  sister's  shoulders  and 
scrutinised  her  face  a  little  anxiously. 

"  You  are  very  tired.     Are  your  eyes  paining  you,  Althea  ?" 

"  No,  dear,  but  I  think  I  shall  go  to  bed." 

But  when  she  had  left  the  room  Doreen  did  not  at  once 
resume  her  book.  "I  wonder  what  is  troubling  her,"  she 
said  to  herself.  "I  know  her  expression  so  well,  and  with 
all  her  little  jokes,  she  is  not  at  ease.  I  hope  that  we  have 
not  made  a  grievous  mistake  in  engaging  Miss  Ward — and 
yet  she  seems  a  nice  little  thing!  But  there  is  a  look  in 
Althea' s  eyes  to-night  as  though  she  had  seen  a  ghost.  When 
one  is  no  longer  young  the  ghosts  will  come;"  and  then 
Doreen  sighed  and  took  up  her  book. 

Althea  was  very  tired,  but  it  was  mental,  not  bodily  fatigue, 
that  had  brought  the  dark  shadows  under  her  eyes.  But  it 
was  not  her  habit  to  spare  herself,  or  to  shunt  her  duties. 

So,  instead  of  going  straight  to  her  room,  she  turned 
down  the  passage  that  led  to  the  two  little  chambers  where 
their  humbler  guests  slept,  and  sat  for  a  few  minutes  beside 
Laura  Cairns'  bed.  The  girl  slept  badly,  and  Althea's  sym- 
pathetic nature  guessed  intuitively  how  a  few  cheering  words 
would  sweeten  the  long  night;  and  she  never  missed  her 
evening  visit. 

"It  is  better  to  lie  awake  in  the  country  than  in  Totten- 
ham Court  Roads,"  she  said,  presently.     Then  Laura  smiled. 

"  Oh,  yes,  Miss  Harford;  it  is  so  heavenly,  the  peace  and 
silence.     But  at  first  it  almost  startled  me.     In  London  the 

103 


Mollie's  Prince 

cabs  and  carts  are  always  passing,  and  there  seems  no  quiet  at 
all ;  but  here,  one  can  lie  and  think  of  the  birds  in  their  nests. 
And  how  good  it  is  to  be  free  from  pain  !  Oh,  I  am  so  much 
better,  and  it  is  all  owing  to  your  kindness,  and  this  dear  old 
place  !"  And  here  the  girl's  lips  rested  for  a  moment  on  the 
kind  hand  that  held  hers.  "  But  you  will  not  leave  me  with- 
out my  message,  Miss  Harford?" — for  it  was  one  of  Althea's 
habits  to  give  what  she  called  ''night  thoughts"  to  the  sick 
girls  who  came  to  the  Red  House. 

Althea  paused  a  moment.  For  once  she  had  forgotten  it. 
Then  some  words  of  Thomas  a  Kempis  came  to  her,  "Seek 
not  much  rest,  but  much  patience,"  and  she  repeated  them 
softly.     "  Will  that  do,  Laura  ?" 

"Oh,  yes — and  thank  you  so  much,  Miss  Harford.  'Not 
much  rest,  but  much  patience.'     I  must  remember  that." 

"  I  must  remember  it,  too,"  thought  Althea;  and  then  she 
went  to  the  Cubby-house  to  bid  her  old  nurse  good-night,  and 
to  have  a  little  chat  with  her. 

Nurse  Marks  was  loud  in  her  praises  of  Waveney. 

' '  I  like  her,  Miss  Althea,  my  dear, ' '  she  said,  eagerly.  "  She 
has  pretty  manners,  and  a  good  heart ;  dear,  dear,  just  to  think 
of  it  being  Jonadab's  young  lady.  He  thinks  a  deal  of  her, 
does  Jonadab.  She  will  be  a  comfort  to  you,  my  dearie.  But 
there,  you  are  looking  weary,  my  lamb,  and  Peachey  will  be 
waiting  to  brush  your  hair."  And  Althea  was  thankful  to  be 
dismissed. 

She  sent  Peachey  away  as  soon  as  possible,  and  then  sat 
down  in  an  easy  chair  by  the  window ;  her  eyes  were  aching, 
but  the  darkness  rested  them.  She  was  a  good  sleeper  gener- 
ally, but  to-night  she  knew  that  no  wooing  of  the  drowsy  god 
would  avail  her.  Doreen  was  right,  and  the  ghost  of  the  past 
had  suddenly  started  up  in  her  path. 

Althea's  youth  had  been  a  very  happy  one,  until  the  day 
when  she  and  Everard  Ward  had  gathered  peaches  together  in 
the  walled  garden  at  Kitlands,  and  then  it  had  seemed  to  her 
as  though  they  were  the  very  apples  of  Sodom — mere  dust  and 
ashes. 

Everard  had  judged  his  own  case  far  too  leniently ;  he  had 
been  eager  to  clear  himself  from  blame.  "A  young  fellow 
has  his  fancies  before  he  settles  down  finally,"  he  would  say, 
in  his  careless  way.  "Oh,  yes,  you  are  right,  Egerton.  I 
was  sweet  on  Althea  Harford — there  was  something  fascinating 
about  her ;  she  was  rather  fetching  and  picturesque — you  know 

104 


Guardian  Angels  and  Ithuriel's  Spear 

what  I  mean.  But  Dorothy — well,  it  was  love  at  first  sight, 
the  real  thing  and  no  mistake.  I  wanted  to  ask  her  to  marry 
me  that  very  first  evening,  only  I  could  not  do  it,  you  know.'r 

"I  suppose  not,"  returned  his  friend,  dryly.  "  You  are  a 
cool  hand,  Everard,  upon  my  word.  I  wonder  what  Miss 
Harford  thought  about  it  all.  Perhaps  I  am  a  bit  old-fash- 
ioned, but  in  my  day  we  did  not  think  it  good  form  to  pay 
court  to  one  girl  and  marry  another."  But  this  plain  speak- 
ing only  offended  Everard,  probably  because  in  his  inner  con- 
sciousness he  knew  the  older  man  had  spoken  the  truth. 

Through  the  sweet  spring  days  and  the  glorious  months  of 
summer  Everard  Ward  had  wooed  the  young  heiress  with  the 
eager  persistence  that  was  natural  to  him.  Althea's  fascinating 
personality,  her  gentleness  and  bright  intelligence,  all  domi- 
nated the  young  man,  and  for  a  time  at  least  he  honestly  be- 
lieved himself  in  love  with  her.  He  was  not  fickle  by  nature, 
and  if  Dorothy  Sinclair  had  not  crossed  his  path,  and  played 
Rosalind  to  his  Orlando,  in  the  green  glades  of  Kitlands 
Park,  he  would  to  a  certainty  have  married  Althea  Harford. 

Hearts  do  not  break,  they  say ;  but  when  Althea  walked 
down  the  terrace  steps  that  day,  with  her  basket  of  peaches  on 
her  arm,  she  knew  that  the  gladness  and  sweetness  of  her 
young  life  had  faded,  and  that,  if  her  heart  were  not  actually 
broken,  it  was  only  because  her  unselfishness  and  sense  of 
right  forbade  such  wreckage. 

"  I  shall  live  through  it,  Dorrie,"  she  had  said  to  her  sister, 
in  those  early  days  of  misery,  ' '  and,  God  helping  me,  it  shall 
not  make  me  bitter  ;  but  it  has  robbed  me  of  my  youth.  One 
cannot  suffer  in  this  way,  and  keep  young;"  and  she  was 
right. 

"If  you  could  only  hate  him!"  ejaculated  Doreen.  "In 
your  circumstances  I  know  I  should  loathe  and  despise  him." 
But  Althea  only  shook  her  head. 

"  How  could  I  hate  him,  when  I  have  grown  to  love  him 
with  my  whole  heart,  when  I  have  regarded  myself  as  his." 
But  here  she  stopped  and  hid  her  face  in  her  hands,  with  a 
choking  sob.  "Oh,  Dorrie,  that  is  the  worst  of  all,  that  I 
should  have  believed  it,  and  that  he  never  meant  it;  that  he 
never  really  loved  me." 

"I  think  he  was  very  fond  of  you,  Althea,"  returned  Do- 
reen, eagerly.     "  Mother  was  saying  so  only  last  night." 

"  Yes,  he  was  fond  of  me.  We  were  friends  ;  but  I  was  not 
his  closest  and  dearest.     Dorrie,  we  must  never  talk  of  this 

105 


Mollie's  Prince 

again,  you  and  I ;  a  wound  like  this,  so  sore  and  deep,  should 
be  covered  up  and  hidden.  I  must  hide  it  even  from  myself. 
There  is  only  one  thing  that  I  want  to  say,  and  then  we  will 
bury  our  dead.  I  cannot  hate  Everard — hatred  is  not  in  my 
nature — and  neither  can  I  ever  cease  to  love  him.  Oh,  there 
is  no  need  for  you  to  look  so  shocked" — as  Doreen's  face  ex- 
pressed strong  disapproval  of  this.  "There  will  be  no  im- 
propriety in  the  love  I  shall  bear  him.  If  I  could  I  would  be 
his  guardian  angel,  and  keep  all  troubles  from  him."  Then 
she  sighed  and  put  her  hand  gently  on  her  sister's  shoulder. 
"  '  Seek  not  much  rest,  but  much  patience ;'  that  shall  be  my 
New  Year's  motto.  We  will  bury  our  dead."  Those  had 
been  her  words,  and  for  twenty  years  the  grass  had  grown  over 
that  grave ;  and  yet,  on  this  September  night,  the  ghost  of 
her  old  love  had  haunted  her,  and  the  ache  of  the  old  pain 
had  made  itself  felt. 

Is  there  any  grave  deep  enough  to  bury  a  woman's  love? 
Althea  Harford  was  nearly  forty-one,  and  yet  the  memory  of 
Everard  Ward,  with  his  perfect  face,  and  boyish,  winning 
ways,  his  gay  insouciance,  and  light-hearted  mirth,  made  her 
heart  throb  with  quickened  beats  of  pain.  All  these  years — 
these  weary  years — she  had  never  met  any  one  like  him — never 
any  one  whom  she  could  compare  with  him.  People  had  often 
told  her  that  he  was  not  specially  clever,  that  his  talents  were 
by  no  means  of  a  first-class  order ;  but  she  had  never  believed 
them.  To  her  fond  fancy  he  was  the  embodiment  of  every 
manly  gift  and  beauty ;  even  Dorothy,  with  all  her  love  for 
her  husband,  would  have  marvelled  at  Althea' s  infatuation. 

And  now  Everard' s  daughter  was  under  her  roof,  and  the 
knowledge  that  this  was  so  had  driven  the  sleep  from  her  eyes, 
and  filled  her  with  a  strange  restlessness.  Waveney's  smile, 
and  the  turn  of  her  head,  and  something  in  her  voice,  re- 
called Everard.  More  than  once  that  evening  she  had  winced, 
as  some  familiar  tone  brought  him  too  vividly  before  her. 

Waveney's  artless  confidence  had  given  her  food  for  thought. 
She  had  long  known  the  hard  fight  that  Everard  Ward  was 
waging,  in  his  attempts  to  keep  the  wolf  from  the  door.  On 
more  than  one  occasion  her  secret  beneficence  had  lightened 
his  weight  of  care.  If  Everard  had  guessed  who  was  the  real 
purchaser  of  some  of  his  pictures,  he  would  not  have  pocketed 
the  money  quite  so  happily;  but  Althea  kept  her  own  counsel. 

"  If  I  could  only  be  his  guardian  angel!"  she  had  said,  in 
her  girlish  misery  j  and  no  purer  wish  had  ever  been  expressed 

1 06 


Guardian  Angels  and  Ithuriel's  Spear 

by  woman's  lips;  in  some  ways  she  had  been  Everard  Ward's 
good  angel  all  these  years. 

Still  she  had  never  realised  the  extent  of  his  poverty  until 
Waveney  had  told  her  about  the  purchase  of  "King  Canute." 

A  friend  of  Mr.  Ingram's  wanted  a  historical  picture,  and  it 
was  so  fortunate  that  he  took  a  fancy  to  "King  Canute!" — he 
had  actually  paid  five-and-twenty  guineas,  and  they  had  paid 
off  the  disagreeable  butcher ;  and  now  father  would  have  the 
new  great-coat  that  he  wanted  so  badly. 

Waveney  had  said  all  this  with  girlish  frankness,  as  she  and 
her  new  friend  had  paced  up  and  down  the  garden  path  in  the 
September  darkness  ;  but  Althea  had  made  no  answer.  She 
only  shivered  a  little,  as  though  she  were  cold;  and  a  few 
minutes  later  she  proposed  to  return  to  the  house. 

"It  is  a  beautiful  evening,  but  we  must  not  forget  that  it 
is  September,"  she  had  observed.  But  her  voice  was  a  little 
strained. 

No,  she  had  never  really  realised  until  that  moment  how 
badly  things  had  gone  with  him  ;  that  mention  of  the  great- 
coat had  effectually  opened  her  eyes.  And  then,  as  though  to 
mock  her,  a  little  scene  rose  before  her — a  certain  golden  after- 
noon spent  in  an  old  studio  at  Chelsea,  where  Everard  Ward 
and  a  friend  had  established  themselves. 

How  well  she  remembered  it !  and  the  balcony  full  of  flowers 
overlooking  the  river,  with  a  gay  awning  overhead. 

It  was  summer  time,  and  she  had  put  on  a  white  gown 
in  honour  of  the  occasion,  and  Everard  had  brought  her  a 
cluster  of  dark,  velvety  roses.  "They  will  give  you  the 
colour  you  need,"  he  had  said,  looking  at  her  admiringly; 
what  an  ideal  artist  he  had  seemed  to  her  in  his  brown  vel- 
veteen coat !  The  yellow  sunshine  seemed  to  make  a  halo 
round  his  fair  hair. 

"You  look  like  a  glorified  angel,  Ward,"  his  friend  had 
said,  laughingly.  "What  do  you  say,  Miss  Harford— would 
he  not  do  for  Ithuriel  in  my  picture  of  Adam  and  Eve  sleep- 
ing in  Paradise,  with  the  Evil  One  whispering  in  Eve's  ear. 
Do  you  remember  the  passage : 

'  Him  thus  intent 
Ithuriel  with  his  spear  touched  lightly.' 

Look  here,  old  man,  you  must  sit  for  me  to-morrow."  But 
Everard  had  only  grumbled  and  looked  bored. 

In  those  days  great-coats  had  certainly  not  been  lacking. 

107 


Mollie's  Prince 

And  as  this  thought  occurred  to  her,  Althca  had  shivered  and 
become  silent. 

About  four-and-twenty  hours  later  Mollie  received  the 
following  letter,  which  she  carried  off  to  her  bedroom  and 
read  over  and  over  again.  She  had  already  had  the  note  in 
which  Waveney  had  described  the  Cubby-house  and  her 
Pansy  Room,  and  Mollie  had  certainly  not  expected  another 
so  soon. 

"  My  own  Sweetheart. — Here  I  am  actually  writing  to 
you  again.  But  I  know  what  a  long,  weary  day  this  has  been, 
and  how  my  sweet  Moll  has  been  missing  me  ;  and  I  said  to 
myself,  '  A  letter  by  the  last  post  will  send  her  to  sleep  hap- 
pily, and  make  her  think  that  we  are  not  so  far  apart,  after 
all !'  Well,  and  how  do  you  think  I  have  been  spending  my 
first  day  of  servitude  ?  Why,  all  by  myself  on  the  common ; 
and  if  you  had  been  there  it  would  have  been  simply  per- 
fect ;  the  common  is  such  a  beautiful  place,  and  it  stretches 
away  for  miles.  But  you  will  be  saying  to  yourself,  '  Is  this 
the  way  Miss  Harford's  reader  performs  her  duties?'  My 
dear  child,  I  have  not  seen  my  Miss  Harford  to-day.  At 
breakfast  time,  Miss  Doreen  told  me  that  her  sister  had  had 
a  bad  night,  and  that  she  was  suffering  great  pain  in  her 
eyes.  'It  is  so  severe  an  attack,'  she  explained,  'that  she 
cannot  bear  a  vestige  of  light,  and  reading  would  drive  her 
distracted.  Her  maid  Peachey  is  looking  after  her,  and  most 
likely  by  evening  the  pain  will  have  worn  itself  out.'  And 
then  she  advised  me  to  take  a  book  out  of  the  library  and  sit 
on  the  common,  as  she  would  be  absent  the  greater  part  of 
the  day.  It  was  rather  a  business  choosing  a  book,  but  I 
took  '  Ayala's  Angel'  at  last,  as  it  looked  amusing,  and  angels 
always  remind  me  of  my  Mollie.  There,  is  that  not  a  pretty 
speech  ? 

"The  two  little  Yorkshire  terriers  accompanied  me — Fuss 
and  Fury — they  are  such  dear  little  fellows,  and  it  was  just 
lovely !  There  was  a  little  green  nook,  with  a  comfortable 
bench,  a  little  way  back  from  the  road,  and  there  I  spent  the 
morning.  Miss  Doreen  was  still  at  the  House,  so  I  had 
luncheon  alone,  and  afterwards  I  went  out  in  the  garden. 
The  two  shop-girls  were  there ;  they  had  hammock  chairs 
under  a  tree.  The  tall,  pale  girl  was  working,  and  the  other 
was  reading  to  her.  I  stopped  to  speak  to  them,  and  then  I 
found  a  delightful  seat  in  the  kitchen  garden.  It  was  so 
warm  and  sunny  that  you  would  have  thought  it  was  August. 

1 08 


Thursdays  at  the  Porch  House 

Mitchell  came  to  tell  me  when  tea  was  ready,  and  now  I 
am  up  in  my  Pansy  Room,  writing  to  you.  There  is  a  pillar 
box  quite  near,  and  when  I  have  finished  it  I  shall  slip  out 
and  post  it. ' '  And  then  a  few  loving  messages  to  her  father 
and  Noel  closed  the  letter. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THURSDAYS   AT   THE   PORCH   HOUSE. 

"And  touch'd  by  her  fair  tendance,  gladlier  grew." 

Milton. 

When  Waveney  crossed  the  hall  after  posting  her  letter, 
the  dressing-bell  rang,  and  Mitchell,  who  encountered  her  on 
the  stairs,  informed  her  with  quiet  civility  that  both  her  mis- 
tresses were  in  the  library,  and  had  desired  that  she  would 
join  them  as  soon  as  she  was  ready. 

It  did  not  take  many  minutes  for  Waveney  to  brush  out  her 
curly  hair  and  put  on  her  white  dress.  It  was  almost  severe 
in  its  simplicity  and  absence  of  trimming,  but  in  hers  and 
Mollie's  eyes  it  was  a  garment  fit  for  a  princess;  and  when 
Waveney  had  pinched  up  the  lace  ruffles,  and  put  in  the  little 
pearl  brooch — which  had  belonged  to  her  mother — she  was 
innocently  pleased  with  her  appearance. 

She  had  rather  a  shock  when  she  entered  the  library. 
Doreen  was  not  there,  but  Althea  was  sitting  with  her  back 
to  the  light,  with  a  green  shade  over  her  eyes.  The  pale  tints 
of  her  gown — Waveney  discovered  she  always  wore  soft, 
neutral  tints — the  pallor  of  her  long,  thin  face,  and  the  dis- 
guising shade,  gave  her  a  strangely  pathetic  look. 

She  held  out  her  hand  with  a  faint  smile. 

"  I  am  so  sorry,  my  dear,  that  this  should  have  happened, 
and  on  your  first  day,  too  !  It  is  the  worst  attack  I  have  had 
for  months,  and  no  remedies  seemed  to  have  any  effect. 
But  the  pain  has  gone  now,  and  to-morrow  I  shall  be  myself 
again." 

"Oh,  I  am  so  glad  of  that!" 

"  I  am  glad  of  it,  too,"  returned  Althea ;   "  for  I  would  not 

109 


Mollie's  Prince 

willingly  miss  one  of  our  Thursday  evenings.  You  will  be 
surprised  to  hear  that  we  have  begun  a  course  of  Shakespeare 
readings.  Some  of  the  girls  are  so  intelligent,  and  read  so 
well !  Our  old  friend,  Mr.  Chaytor,  helps  us.  He  is  a  bar- 
rister, but  a  very  poor  one,  I  am  sorry  to  say  ;  but  he  is  won- 
derfully clever.  He  used  to  read  to  the  girls.  Then  he  got 
up  an  elocution  class  ;  and  now  he  has  started  these  Shake- 
speare readings,  and  the  girls  do  so  enjoy  them  !" 

"  It  sounds  very  nice." 

"I  think  you  will  say  so.  We  have  had  Te7?ipest  and 
Twelfth  Night,  and  to-morrow  it  is  to  be  As  You  Like  It. 
Mr.  Chaytor  is  to  be  Touchstone  and  the  melancholy  Jacques. 
Rather  contrasts,  are  they  not?" 

At  this  moment  Doreen  re-entered.  She  looked  pleased  as 
she  noticed  the  animation  in  her  sister's  voice,  and  as  the 
gong  sounded,  she  said, — 

"  You  will  like  Miss  Ward  to  come  and  talk  after  dinner, 
Althea,  while  I  write  those  letters."  And  Althea  smiled  and 
nodded. 

"  She  looks  very  ill,"  Waveney  said,  in  a  low  voice,  as  they 
walked  down  the  corridor. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  returned  Miss  Harford,  "she  always  looks  bad 
after  one  of  these  attacks ;  it  is  the  pain,  you  see — my  sister 
does  not  bear  pain  well ;  it  wears  her  out." 

Waveney  felt  relieved  when  dinner  was  over.  Doreen  was 
very  kind  and  pleasant,  but  she  was  not  a  great  talker,  and 
hardly  knew  how  to  interest  her  young  companion.  "  Girls 
were  more  in  Althea's  line,"  she  said  to  herself,  "Althea  had 
such  marvellous  sympathy  and  understood  them  so  thoroughly. 
She  herself  got  on  better  with  older  women;"  and  once  or 
twice  she  smiled  in  an  amused  way  when  she  lifted  her  eyes 
from  her  plate  and  saw  the  little  figure  in  white  opposite  her. 
"She  reminded  me  of  one  of  Moritz's  pictures,"  she  said, 
afterwards  to  Althea.  "  Whichever  could  it  be?  I  have  been 
puzzling  myself  all  dinner-time.  The  white  frock  makes  her 
look  more  like  a  child  than  ever  j  her  eyes  are  lovely,  but 
she  is  not  pretty. ' ' 

"  Not  exactly ;  but  I  like  her  face.  I  expect  you  mean  that 
picture  of  Undine.  Yes,  she  is  wonderfully  like  it,  only  this 
Undine  has  her  soul.  By  the  bye,  we  have  not  seen  Moritz  for 
an  age.  I  shall  write  to  Gwendoline  and  tell  her  that  her 
boy  is  up  to  mischief." 

When  Waveney  returned  to  the  library  she  found  that  one 


Thursdays  at  the  Porch  House 

or  two  shaded  lamps  had  been   lighted,  but  that  Althea  was 
still  seated  in  the  darkest  corner  of  the  room. 

She  bade  Waveney  draw  up  a  chair  beside  her.  "  My  head 
is  too  confused  to  listen  to  reading,"  she  observed;  "so  you 
shall  just  talk  and  amuse  me.  Tell  me  anything  about  your- 
self, or  Mollie,  or  your  brother;  everything  human  interests 
me,  and  nothing  in  the  world  pleases  me  better  than  to  listen 
to  the  story  of  other  people's  lives." 

Waveney  laughed ;  but  she  was  a  little  embarrassed,  too. 
"Shall  I  tell  you  about  my  dear  old  men  at  the  Hospital  ?" 
she  said,  rather  nervously ;  and  Althea  concealed  her  disap- 
pointment, and  said,  "Yes,  certainly;  tell  me  anything  you 
like." 

And  so  Waveney  began;  and  as  usual  her  narrative  was 
very  picturesque  and  graphic.  But  lo  and  behold !  before 
many  minutes  were  over  she  had  crossed  the  green  sward,  and 
the  lime  avenue,  and  was  standing  in  fancy  before  a  certain 
high,  narrow  house,  with  vine-draped  balcony,  and  an  old 
courtyard;  and  as  she  talked  her  eyes  were  shining  with 
eagerness.  And  now  the  beloved  names  were  on  her  lips — 
father  and  Mollie  and  Noel.  Althea  almost  held  her  breath 
as  she  listened.  "Oh,  we  were  so  happy  !"  exclaimed  the 
girl.  "I  think  no  one  could  have  been  happier — we  were 
never  dull,  not  even  when  Noel  was  at  school  and  father 
away;  but,  of  course,  we  liked  the  evenings  best  !" 

"Oh,  yes,  of  course,"  echoed  Althea,  softly. 

"I  think  the  winter  evenings  were  best,"  returned  Wave- 
ney, reflectively,  "  because  we  could  make  up  such  a  lovely 
fire.  Father  was  often  cold  and  tired,  but  he  always  smiled 
when  he  saw  our  fire,  and  sometimes  we  would  roast  chestnuts 
— that  was  Noel's  treat — and  tell  stories,  and  sing.  Father 
has  such  a  beautiful  voice,  and  so  has  Mollie,  and  when  they 
sing  in  church,  people  look  round  and  wonder  who  they  are." 

"Your  brother  is  happy  at  school,  then?" 

"Happy!  I  should  think  so  !  He  is  so  clever — even  his 
masters  say  so ;  and  then,  he  never  shirks  his  work  like  other 
boys.  Oh,  do  you  know,  Miss  Harford,  he  has  set  his  heart 
on  getting  a  scholarship ;  he  is  working  for  his  examination 
now.  If  he  gets  it,  we  hope  he  will  be  able  to  go  to  Oxford, 
for  he  does  so  want  to  be  a  barrister. ' ' 

"  But,  my  dear,  eighty  pounds  a  year  would  not  pay  his  ex- 
penses at  any  university."  And  then  Althea  bit  her  lip  as 
though  she  had  said  more  than  she  intended. 

in 


Mollie's  Prince 

"  Oh,  we  know  that,"  returned  Waveney,  eagerly,  "  but  we 
thought — at    least,    Noel    thought — that   perhaps   the   veiled 

Prophet "     And  then  she  broke  into  a  laugh.      "How 

absurd  I  am  !  As  though  you  could  understand  !  But  Noel 
is  always  so  ridiculous,  and  gives  such  funny  names  to  people  ! 
The  veiled  Prophet  is  that  kind  friend  of  mother's  who  has 
sent  him  to  St.  Paul's." 

"A  friend  of  your  mother's,  my  dear?"  Althea' s  tone 
was  a  little  perplexed. 

"  Father  always  says  it  is  some  friend  of  mother's,  but,  of 
course,  it  is  all  guess-work.  The  lawyer,  who  pays  his  bills, 
tells  us  nothing;"  and  then,  partly  to  amuse  her  hearer,  and 
partly  because  it  gave  her  pleasure  to  narrate  anecdotes  of  the 
lad's  cleverness  and  sense  of  humour,  she  told  her  how  Noel 
intended  one  day  to  go  to  Lincoln's  Inn  and  interview  the 
old  lawyer.  And  there  was  something  so  racy  in  the  girl's  man- 
ner, and  she  imitated  Noel's  voice  so  well,  that  Althea,  who 
had  been  trying  to  suppress  her  amusement  for  some  minutes, 
gave  up  the  effort,  and  broke  into  a  hearty  laugh. 

"My  dear,  you  have  done  me  good,"  she  said,  when  they 
were  serious  again,  "and  my  evening,  thanks  to  you,  has 
passed  very  pleasantly.  But  I  am  going  to  send  you  away 
now,  as  I  must  not  talk  any  more. ' '  And  then,  as  Waveney 
rose  from  her  chair  at  this  dismissal,  she  drew  her  gently  to- 
wards her,  and  kissed  her  cheek.  "  I  am  your  friend  ;  remem- 
ber that,  Waveney,"  she  said,  in  her  quiet  voice,  and  the  girl 
blushed  with  surprise  and  pleasure. 

The  next  morning  Waveney  was  summoned  to  the  library. 
She  found  Althea  looking  pale  and  weak,  but  she  had  dis- 
carded her  shade.  She  was  resting  in  a  deep,  easy-chair,  and 
her  lap  was  full  of  letters. 

Waveney  found  that  her  work  was  cut  out  for  her,  and  for 
more  than  an  hour  she  was  busily  engaged  in  writing  the  an- 
swers dictated  to  her.  One  was  to  Mrs.  Wainwaring,  and 
Waveney  felt  great  pleasure  in  writing  it.  She  had  not  for- 
gotten Fairy  Magnificent.  She  had  taken  a  fancy  to  the 
pretty  old  lady,  and  longed  to  see  her  again.  When  Althea 
had  finished  her  correspondence,  she  put  a  volume  of  "  Robert 
Browning's  Life"  into  the  girl's  hand. 

"I  must  not  use  my  eyes  to-day,"  she  said,  with  a  sigh, 
"so  if  you  will  be  good  enough  to  read  to  me,  I  will  finish 
my  jersey.  Knitting  and  crotchet  are  my  only  amusements 
on  my  blind  days.     We  work  for  the  Seamen's  Mission." 

112 


Thursdays  at  the  Porch  House 

And  then  she  added,  brightly,  "It  is  such  a  luxury  having 
some  one  to  read  to  me.  We  shall  get  through  so  many  nice 
books,  you  and  I." 

The  morning  passed  so  quickly  that  both  of  them  were 
surprised  when  the  gong  sounded.  After  luncheon  Waveney 
was  told  to  go  out  and  amuse  herself  until  tea-time,  and  she 
spent  a  delightful  afternoon  rambling  over  the  common,  with 
Fuss  and  Fury  frolicking  beside  her.  The  little  terriers  evi- 
dently regarded  her  as  a  new  playmate,  and  were  on  the 
friendliest  terms  with  her. 

On  going  up  to  her  room  to  dress  for  dinner,  which  was 
always  an  hour  earlier  on  Thursdays,  she  noticed  a  group  of 
girls  in  the  verandah  of  the  Porch  House.  Some  were  sitting 
down,  and  others  standing  about  with  racquets  in  their  hands. 
Through  the  open  window  she  could  hear  merry  voices  and 
laughter.  Laura  Cairns  and  the  other  girl  were  with  them. 
The  young  housemaid  who  waited  on  her  volunteered  an  expla- 
nation as  she  set  down  the  hot-water  can. 

"  Those  are  the  young  ladies  from  the  Dereham  shops, 
ma'am.  It  is  early  closing-day  with  most  of  them,  and  they 
come  up  early  to  play  tennis."  Althea  looked  amused  when 
Waveney  repeated  this  speech. 

"They  are  young  ladies  to  Dorcas,"  she  said,  laughing. 
"But,  indeed,  some  of  these  girls  are  so  intelligent,  and  so 
truly  refined,  that  one  need  not  grudge  them  the  term.  One 
or  two  of  them  would  grace  any  drawing-room ;  but,  of 
course,  we  have  our  dressy  smart  girls,  too.  By  the  bye, 
Waveney,  do  you  play  tennis  ?"  And  as  Waveney  shook  her 
head,  "I  thought  not.  The  houses  in  Cleveland  Terrace  have 
only  small  gardens,  and  you  would  have  no  opportunity  of 
practising ;  but  I  am  a  devout  believer  in  tennis. ' ' 

"  Mollie  and  I  always  longed  to  play,"  returned  Waveney, 
with  a  sigh.  "  But,  of  course,  it  was  out  of  the  question  for 
Mollie." 

"  Yes,  but  it  is  quite  possible  for  you,  and  if  you  like,  Nora 
Greenwell  will  teach  you ;  she  is  our  crack  player.  Even  my 
sister,  who  is  severely  critical,  allows  that  she  makes  wonderful 
strokes;  eh,  Dorrie?" 

"She  plays  exceedingly  well,"  returned  Doreen,  looking 
up  from  a  scrap-book  she  was  making  for  a  children's  hos- 
pital. "  But  then,  Miss  Greenwell  does  everything  well.  She 
is  to  take  Rosalind's  part  to-night,  is  she  not  ?' '  Althea  winced 
slightly  as  Doreen  asked  the  question.     To  her  dying  day  she 

8  113 


Mollie's  Prince 

would  never  hear  Rosalind's  part  read  or  acted,  without  secret 
emotion.  She  had  dreaded  this  evening  ever  since  the  play 
of  As  You  Like  It  was  decided  upon,  but  none  the  less  she 
had  determined  to  be  present. 

"Yes,"  she  returned,  rather  hastily,  "of  course,  Mr.  Chay- 
tor  selected  that  part  for  her,  as  Nora  is  certainly  our  best 
reader.  Minnie  Alston  will  be  Celia."  And  then  she  turned 
to  Waveney.  "They  are  my  two  favourites.  When  my 
sister  wishes  to  tease  me,  she  calls  them  my  two  paragons. 
And,  indeed,  I  am  proud  of  them.  Oddly  enough,  they 
serve  in  the  same  shop — that  big  haberdasher — Gardiner  & 
Wells." 

"  Miss  Ward  has  not  passed  the  shop,  Althea.  She  has  yet 
to  make  acquaintance  with  Dereham." 

"Why  do  you  call  her  Miss  Ward  ?"  returned  Althea,  play- 
fully. "  It  is  far  too  stiff  a  name  for  her.  Follow  my  example 
and  call  her  Waveney." 

But  Doreen  looked  a  little  dubious  at  this.  She  was  a 
kind-hearted  woman,  but  an  undemonstrative  one,  and  her 
sister's  pretty  speeches  and  little  caressing  ways  often  filled 
her  with  envy. 

Dinner  that  evening  was  rather  hurried,  and  the  moment  it 
was  over  Althea  took  up  a  light  wrap  and  invited  WTaveney  to 
accompany  her  to  the  Porch  House. 

The  girls  had  finished  their  tea,  and  were  now  arranging 
the  room  for  their  reading.  Althea  paused  doubtfully  on  the 
threshold  as  she  heard  the  commotion. 

"We  are  a  little  early,"  she  said  ;  "and  they  never  like 
me  to  find  them  in  confusion.  I  will  show  you  the  kitchen, 
Waveney.  Is  this  not  a  nice  little  place  ?  And  that  room 
beyond  is  where  the  girls  wash  their  hands  and  brush  their 
hair.  There  is  a  store-room,  too,  where  I  keep  my  jams  and 
cake. ' '  v 

A  pale-faced  young  widow  was  washing  up  the  tea-cups  as 
they  entered.     She  brightened  up  as  Althea  addressed  her. 

"That  is  my  caretaker,  Mrs.  Shaw,"  observed  Althea,  in  a 
low  voice.  "  Come,  they  are  fairly  quiet  now,  and  we  may 
as  well  go  in,  as  Mr.  Chaytor  is  generally  punctual." 

Waveney  felt  a  little  shy  as  she  followed  Althea.  The  great 
room  seemed  full  of  girls.  There  were  thirty  or  forty  of  them, 
but  Althea  shook  hands  with  every  one,  and  had  a  pleasant 
word  for  each. 

"This  is  my  friend,   Miss  Ward,"  she  said,  in  her  clear 
114 


Thursdays  at  the  Porch  House 

voice,  to  the  assembled  girls.  "Nora,"  singling  out  a  tall 
girl,  with  an  interesting  face,  "lam  going  to  ask  you  to  teach 
Miss  Ward  to  play  tennis.  The  asphalt  court  behind  the 
Porch  House  will  soon  be  ready.  Thanks  to  the  early  closing 
movement,  some  of  you  will  be  able  to  have  a  game  before  it 
gets  dark. ' ' 

"Yes,  indeed,  Miss  Harford." 

"And  we  can  practise  our  skating,  too,"  interposed  a 
pretty,  dark  girl. 

Waveney  found  out  afterwards  that  it  was  Minnie  Alston, 
and  that  she  and  Nora  were  great  chums. 

"That  will  be  charming,"  returned  Althea.  She  looked 
more  like  Queen  Bess  than  ever,  as  she  stood  in  the  circle  of 
girls,  with  the  light  shining  on  her  ruddy  hair  and  soft  ruffles. 
"Now,  girls,  we  must  take  our  places;"  and  then  she 
beckoned  Waveney  to  a  long,  high-backed  settle  that  stood 
by  the  fire.  The  room  was  large,  and  a  little  cold,  so  a  fire 
had  been  lighted. 

Waveney  looked  round  with  intense  interest.  The  Recre- 
ation Hall,  as  it  was  called,  was  of  noble  dimensions,  and 
evidently  well-lighted,  from  the  number  of  windows. 

There  was  a  platform  at  one  end,  with  a  piano ;  and  two  or 
three  easels  and  half  a  dozen  round  tables,  with  gay,  crimson 
cloths,  occupied  the  centre  of  the  room.  These  were  at  once 
surrounded  by  groups  of  girls,  some  with  books  in  their 
hands.  The  floor  was  stained,  and  some  warm-coloured 
rugs  gave  an  air  of  comfort.  A  well -filled  book-case,  a  few 
well-chosen  prints,  and  a  carved  oak  chair  known  as  "Miss 
Harford's  throne,"  comprised  the  remainder  of  the  furniture. 

This  evening  Althea  had  vacated  her  throne  for  the  settle, 
and  a  few  minutes  later  Doreen  entered  the  room,  and 
with  a  pleasant  nod  to  the  girls,  she  seated  herself  by  her 
sister. 

Althea  looked  pleased,  but  she  was  evidently  surprised. 
Waveney  discovered  afterwards  that  it  was  not  Miss  Harford's 
habit  to  attend  the  Thursday  meetings.  The  sisters  had  their 
different  hobbies.  Doreen' s  active  energies  found  plenty  of 
scope  in  her  "Home  for  Broken-down  Workers,"  and  though 
Althea  had  contributed  largely  to  it,  and  always  visited  it  at 
least  once  a  week,  it  was  Doreen  who  was  the  head  and  main- 
spring of  the  whole  concern.  The  committee  of  management, 
comprised  of  a  few  personal  friends  in  the  neighbourhood, 
were  merely  tools  in  her  vigorous  hands. 

"5 


Mollie's  Prince 

"I  wanted  to  hear  Miss  Greenwell's  Rosalind,"  she  whis- 
pered. And  then  a  man's  step  sounded  in  the  little  passage. 
There  was  a  quick  rap  at  the  door,  the  girls  all  rose  from  their 
seats,  and  Althea  went  forward  with  a  smile  of  welcome. 

"You  are  punctual  to  a  minute,  Thorold,"  she  said,  as 
she  shook  hunds.  "Miss  Ward,  this  is  our  old  friend,  Mr. 
Chaytor;"  but  as  Waveney  bowed  demurely,  a  sudden  gleam 
of  amusement  sparkled  in  her  eyes ;  for  lo  and  behold  !  it 
was  "the  noticeable  man,  with  large  grey  eyes"  who  had 
enquired  the  way  in  Ranelagh  Gardens. 


CHAPTER   XV. 

ORLANDO   TO   THE   RESCUE. 

Macbeth.  "  If  we  should  fail !" 

Lady  Macbeth.  "  We  fail ! 

But  screw  your  courage  to  the  sticking  place, 

And  we'll  not  fail." 

Shakespeare. 

Waveney  was  secretly  piqued  to  see  that  there  was  no  sign 
of  recognition  in  Mr.  Chaytor' s  eyes.  He  bowed  as  though 
to  a  stranger  in  whom  he  took  slight  interest,  exchanged  a 
few  words  with  the  sisters,  looked  at  his  watch,  and  then 
lifted  his  hand  as  a  signal  for  silence,  and  the  buzzing,  girlish 
voices  were  instantly  hushed. 

The  readers  had  already  taken  their  places  round  the 
centre  table.  Miss  Harford's  throne  and  a  reading-desk 
stood  beside  it.  The  rest  of  the  girls  had  grouped  them- 
selves round  the  tables  with  their  work.  A  few  of  them  had 
a  volume  of  Shakespeare  in  their  hands.  The  moment  after 
Mr.  Chaytor's  entrance  one  of  the  girls  had  left  the  room 
rather  hurriedly,  and  a  minute  later  Althea  was  summoned. 

Mr.  Chaytor  was  giving  a  few  instructions  in  a  low  voice, 
and  had  not  noticed  the  circumstance  until  Althea  returned 
with  a  perturbed  countenance. 

"I  am  so  sorry,"  she  said,  in  a  tone  of  vexation;  "it  is 
most  unfortunate,  but  Miss  Pierson  has  one  of  her  giddy 
attacks,  and  is  obliged  to  go  home.  She  is  in  tears  about  it, 
but,  as  I  tell  her,  it  is  no  fault  of  hers." 

116 


Orlando  to  the  Rescue 

Mr.  Chaytor  looked  blank.  His  audience  was  impatient ; 
already  he  had  heard  sundry  thimbles  rap  the  table,  and  his 
readers  were  eager  to  begin.  But  now  there  was  no  Orlando, 
what  was  to  be  done?  Such  failure  was  not  to  be  borne. 
He  frowned,  considered  the  point,  and  then  looked  per- 
suasively at  Althea. 

"If  you  will   be   so   good "  he   began;    but  Althea 

shook  her  head  and  turned  a  little  pale.  Not  for  worlds 
would  she  have  read  that  part.  To  her  relief,  Doreen  came 
to  her  aid. 

"You  must  not  ask  Althea,"  she  said,  in  her  quick,  de- 
cided way.  "  She  was  quite  ill  yesterday,  and  her  head  is 
not  right  to-day.  I  wish  I  could  help  you,  but  I  am  no 
reader,  as  you  know.  But  there  is  Miss  Ward ;  I  think  she 
would  do  nicely.  You  will  help  them,  will  you  not  ?' '  turn- 
ing to  Waveney. 

Poor  Waveney  was  ready  to  sink  through  the  ground.  She 
grew  hot  and  then  cold.  "  Do  try,  dear,"  Althea  whispered, 
coaxingly;  and,  to  her  dismay,  she  found  Mr.  Chaytor' s 
grave,  intent  look  fixed  on  her.  The  clear  grey  eyes  were 
somewhat  beseeching. 

"  It  will  be  a  great  kindness,"  he  said.  "Your  audience 
will  not  be  critical,  Miss  Ward.  Let  me  beg  you  to  do  us 
this  favour." 

"It  is  impossible.  I  should  spoil  everthing,"  stammered 
Waveney,  in  great  distress.  "  I  have  only  once  read  As  You 
Like  It,  and  that  was  a  long  time  ago." 

But  she  might  as  well  have  spoken  to  the  wind.  Mr. 
Chaytor  evidently  had  a  will  of  his  own.  His  only  reply 
was  to  put  a  book  in  her  hand  and  offer  her  a  chair. 

"I  have  promised  that  we  will  not  be  critical,"  he  said, 
quietly.  ' '  You  will  soon  get  into  the  swing  of  it.  To  give  you 
confidence,  I  will  read  Orlando's  opening  speech  to  Adam." 

Then,  as  Waveney  took  her  place,  with  hot  cheeks  and 
downcast  eyes,  a  delightful  clapping  of  hands  welcomed  her. 

Althea  looked  anxious  as  she  returned  to  the  oak  settle. 

"Poor  little  thing,  she  is  frightened  to  death,"  she  whis- 
pered ;   " but  Thorold  was  so  masterful  with  her." 

"I  like  men  to  be  masterful,"  returned  Doreen,  in  an 
undertone;  "but  I  wish  he  would  try  it  on  with  Joanna." 
And  then  they  both  smiled,  and  Althea  said  "hush!" 
as  Mr.  Chaytor' s  full,  rich  tones  were  audible. 

Waverley's  turn  came  all  too  soon.     Her  voice  trembled, 

117 


Mollie's  Prince 

and  was  sadly  indistinct,  at  first :  but  as  one  girl  after  an- 
other took  up  her  cue,  she  soon  forgot  her  nervousness,  and 
entered  into  the  spirit  of  the  play.  Several  of  the  girls  read 
well,  but  none  of  them  equalled  Nora  Green  well.  Celia  was 
passable,  and  Phoebe  certainly  understood  her  role ;  but  Nora 
read  with  a  sprightliness  and  animation  that  surprised  Wa- 
veney.  The  girl  seemed  a  born  actor.  Her  enunciation  was 
clear,  and  the  changes  of  expression  in  her  voice,  its  mirth 
and  passion,  its  rollicking,  girlish  humours  and  droll  witcheries, 
were  wonderfully  rendered. 

But  it  was  Mr.  Chay tor's  reading  that  kept  Waveney  spell- 
bound. When  as  First  Lord  he  narrates  the  story  of  the 
melancholy  Jacques  and  the  sobbing  deer,  the  pathos  of  his 
voice  brought  the  tears  to  her  eyes ;  and  as  Touchstone  his 
dry  humour  and  clownish  wit  were  so  cleverly  given  that  once 
Waveney  laughed  and  was  covered  with  confusion. 

Twice  the  reading  was  interrupted  by  a  charming  little 
interlude,  when  three  or  four  girls  went  up  on  the  platform 
and  sang  " Under  the  Greenwood  Tree"  and  "Blow,  Blow, 
Thou  Winter  Wind. ' '  At  the  conclusion  of  the  play,  which 
was  shortened  purposely,  Althea  took  her  seat  at  the  piano, 
and  all  the  girls  joined  in  an  evening  hymn. 

Waveney  did  not  sing,  for  her  heart  was  full.  The  evening's 
performance  had  excited  her,  and  her  imagination,  which  was 
always  remarkably  vivid,  seemed  suddenly  to  grasp  the  full 
beauty  and  meaning  of  the  scene.  Was  not  this  Christian 
socialism  in  its  fairest  aspect  ?  she  thought.  Could  any  picture 
be  sweeter  or  more  symbolical  than  that  group  of  young  faces 
gathered  round  the  two  dear  ladies ;  for  Doreen  was  on  the 
platform,  too.  Some  of  the  faces  were  far  from  being  beauti- 
ful— some  were  absolutely  plain ;  and  one  or  two  sickly-look- 
ing girls  with  tangled  hair,  and  decked  out  with  cheap  finery, 
were  singularly  unattractive.  And  yet,  as  Althea's  long,  slim 
fingers  touched  the  notes,  and  the  dear  old  tune  that  they  had 
loved  in  childhood  floated  through  the  wide  hall,  each  face 
brightened  into  new  life. 

"  They  are  all  workers,"  thought  Waveney,  as  she  watched 
them.  ' '  Some  of  them  have  hard,  toilsome  lives ;  they  are  away 
from  their  homes  and  amongst  strangers,  and,  though  they  are 
so  young,  they  know  weariness  and  heartache.  But  when  they 
come  here,  it  is  like  home  to  each  one,  and  it  makes  them 
happy.  If  I  were  a  shop-girl  at  Dereham,  I  should  look  for- 
ward to  my  Thursday  evening  as  I  look  forward  to  Sunday;" 

118 


Orlando  to  the  Rescue 

and  then  she  said  to  herself,  happily,  "  To-morrow  I  shall  say 
the  day  after  to-morrow,  and  how  delightful  that  will  be  !" 

Waveney  was  smiling  to  herself,  when  she  suddenly  raised 
her  eyes  and  encountered  Mr.  Chaytor's  amused  glance.  He 
had  evidently  been  watching  her  for  some  time,  for  he  was 
leaning  back  in  the  carved  arm-chair,  with  the  air  of  a  man 
who  felt  he  had  earned  his  repose. 

The  next  moment  he  came  towards  her.  The  hymn  was 
over,  but  the  girls  were  still  gathered  round  Althea  and  wish- 
ing her  good-night.  Under  the  cover  of  their  voices  he  ad- 
dressed Waveney. 

"  I  have  not  properly  thanked  you  for  your  kind  assistance, 
Miss  Ward,  but  I  assure  you  that  I  was  most  grateful.  Miss 
Pierson's  indisposition  had  placed  us  in  an  awkward  dilemma, 
but  you  came  to  our  help  most  nobly." 

"  I  am  afraid  I  acquitted  myself  badly,"  returned  Waveney. 
She  would  have  given  much  for  a  word  of  praise.  People 
generally  liked  her  reading,  but  she  feared  that  Mr.  Chaytor 
would  be  no  ordinary  critic. 

"  You  did  very  well,"  he  returned,  quietly.  "  Indeed,  con- 
sidering you  had  only  once  read  the  play,  I  ought  to  give  you 
greater  praise.  You  see,  Shakespeare  is  a  sort  of  divinity  to  me. 
I  think  a  lifetime  is  hardly  long  enough  to  study  him  properly. 
My  reverence  for  him  makes  me  unreasonable.  Orlando  did 
not  suit  you ;  you  would  have  made  a  better  Rosalind.  If  you 
were  staying  at  the  Red  House,  and  liked  to  join  my  Thurs- 
day evening  classes,  I  could  give  you  a  few  valuable  hints." 

"I  should  like  to  join  them,"  observed  Waveney,  colouring 
a  little,  "if  Miss  Harford  could  spare  me. ' '  And  as  he  looked 
a  little  perplexed  at  this,  she  added  hastily,  "I  have  come  to 
the  Red  House  as  Miss  Althea's  reader  and  companion." 
And  this  explanation  evidently  satisfied  him. 

But  the  next  moment,  as  Waveney  was  moving  away,  he 
stopped  her. 

"Will  you  pardon  me,  Miss  Ward,  if  I  ask  if  we  have  ever 
met  before  ?  I  have  a  fancy  that  your  voice," — he  was  going 
to  say  eyes,  but  he  checked  himself — "  is  not  quite  unknown 
to  me.     I  have  been  puzzling  over  it  half  the  evening." 

"Oh,  yes,  we  have  met  before,"  returned  Waveney,  who 
was  quite  at  her  ease  now.  "It  was  in  old  Ranelagh  Gardens, 
and  you  asked  us  to  direct  you  to  Dunedin  Terrace.  I  hope 
you  found  it;"  and  he  smiled  assent  to  this. 

"You  were  with  your  sister,"  he  hazarded,  and  Waveney 

119 


Mollie's  Prince 

nodded;  and  then  Doreen  joined  them,  and  Mr.  Chaytor  said 
no  more. 

Of  course  he  recalled  it  now,  and  it  was  only  last  Monday 
too.  But  how  was  he  to  identify  the  little  girl  in  her  shabby 
hat  with  this  dainty  little  figure  in  white? 

True,  her  eyes  had  attracted  him  that  day,  but  this  evening 
he  had  not  seen  them  fully  until  a  few  minutes  ago.  He  re- 
called everything  now;  the  beautiful  face  of  the  other  girl, 
and  the  sweet,  refined  voices  of  both.  He  had  wondered  who 
they  were,  and  why  they  were  sitting  hand  in  hand  in  the 
sunshine,  and  looking  so  sad;  and  it  was  only  three  days  ago. 

Doreen  proposed  that  Waveney  should  come  back  with  her 
to  the  house. 

"My  sister  and  Mr.  Chaytor  often  stop  behind  for  a  little 
chat  about  the  girls, ' '  she  explained.  And  Waveney,  glancing 
at  them  as  she  left  the  room,  saw  that  she  was  right. 

Althea  had  seated  herself  on  the  settle,  and  was  holding  up 
a  small  screen  between  her  face  and  the  firelight,  and  Mr. 
Chaytor  was  standing  with  one  arm  leaning  against  the  man- 
telpiece looking  down  at  her. 

uIaraso  glad  the  reading  went  off  so  well,"  she  said,  when 
the  door  had  closed  after  her  sister  and  Waveney.  "  At  one 
moment  I  was  terribly  afraid,  until  our  little  Orlando  came  to 
the  rescue.     She  read  very  nicely,  Thorold." 

"Yes,  very  fairly,  considering  all  things;  but  the  part  did 
not  suit  her.  I  hope  you  were  proud  of  your  pet  protegee.  I 
consider  Miss  Greenwell  achieved  a  striking  success  to-night. 
I  am  not  easy  to  please,  but  really  once  or  twice  I  found  my- 
self saying  *  Bravo  ! '  under  my  breath. ' ' 

"  No ;  as  a  critic  you  are  terribly  censorious.  Thorold — you 
will  laugh  at  me — but  Nora's  cleverness  and  her  undoubted  tal- 
ents almost  frighten  me.  What  is  the  good  of  her  learning 
all  this  Euclid  and  French,  and  robbing  herself  of  some  of 
her  rest  to  get  time  for  her  studies,  if  she  is  to  spend  her  life 
in  snipping  off  lengths  of  ribbon  and  tape  from  one  end  of  the 
year  to  the  other?" 

"  All  the  good  in  the  world !"  he  returned,  in  a  most  ener- 
getic tone.  "Why  need  the  snipping  of  ribbon,  as  you  de- 
scribe it,  interfere  with  the  development  of  the  higher  life? 
Your  argument  is  a  weak  one.  You  might  as  well  say  that 
cutting  muslin  by  the  yard  for  so  many  hours  at  a  stretch 
interferes  with  the  religious  life ;  and  yet  I  expect  plenty  of 
shopwomen  are  good  Christians." 


Orlando  to  the  Rescue 

There  was  a  flash  of  amusement  in  Althea's  eyes,  though  she 
pretended  to  be  indignant. 

"  How  absurd  you  are !  But  I  will  not  believe  that  you 
have  so  misunderstood  me.  Let  me  explain  what  I  really  do 
mean.  I  am  very  proud  of  Nora,  but  I  am  so  afraid  that 
all  this  education  and  cultivation  will  make  her  discontented 
with  her  surroundings;  no  life  can  be  perfect  that  is  out  of 
harmony  with  its  environment.  I  know  a  dozen  girls  from 
Gardiner  &  Wells',  and  only  one  of  them,  Minnie  Alston,  is 
worthy  of  Nora's  friendship.  She  is  very  lonely,  and,  as 
you  know,  her  home  is  most  unsatisfactory — a  virago  of  a 
step-mother,  and  a  lot  of  boisterous  children.  Her  work 
does  not  suit  her,  but  she  dare  not  throw  herself  out  of  a 
situation. ' ' 

"Yes,  I  see  what  you  mean,"  returned  Mr.  Chaytor,  gravely. 
"Increase  of  knowledge  often  creates  loneliness,  and  one 
member  of  a  family  may  move  on  a  different  plane,  where  his 
relations  cannot  follow  him.  But  if  they  are  sensible  people 
they  do  not  beg  him  to  climb  down  to  them,  and  leave  off  his 
star-gazing.  I  think  we  need  not  disquiet  ourselves  about  Miss 
Greenwell;  perhaps  she  may  have  good  things  waiting  for 
her." 

Mr.  Chaytor  spoke  in  an  enigmatical  tone — he  was  grave 
and  reticent  by  nature,  and  some  up-to-date  people  would  have 
thought  a  few  of  his  ideas  antiquated.  He  had  a  great  dislike 
to  any  kind  of  gossip,  and  never  mentioned  reports  which 
reached  him  until  they  were  actually  verified.  Some  one  had 
hinted  to  him  that  Nora  Greenwell  had  found  favour  in  the 
eyes  of  her  employer's  son.  Robert  Gardiner  was  well  edu- 
cated and  intelligent,  but  his  parents,  who  were  very  proud 
of  him,  wished  him  to  marry  well. 

"I  have  saved  my  pennies,  Bob,  and  when  you  think  of 
taking  a  wife  I  shall  buy  a  plot  of  ground  in  the  Mortimer 
Road  and  build  you  a  house."  But  as  Mr.  Gardiner  said  this 
he  was  thinking  of  his  partner's  only  child — Annie  Wells. 
She  was  a  pretty,  fresh-looking  girl,  and  when  her  father  died 
she  would  have  six  or  seven  thousand  pounds — for  Gardiner 
&  Wells  drove  a  flourishing  trade  in  Dereham. 

If  Mr.  Chaytor  had  mentioned  this  report  to  Althea  it 
would  have  thrown  a  little  light  on  a  circumstance  that  had 
come  under  her  observation. 

There  had  been  a  mistake  in  her  quarterly  account  with 
Gardiner  &  Wells,  and  one  Thursday  afternoon  Robert  Gar- 

121 


Mollie's  Prince 

diner  had  walked  up  to  the  Red  House  to  speak  to  Miss  Har- 
ford. 

Althea  kept  him  waiting  for  ten  minutes,  as  she  was  enter- 
taining a  visitor ;  but  on  entering  the  dining-room  she  found 
him  standing  at  the  window,  so  intent  on  watching  a  game 
of  tennis  that  she  addressed  him  by  name  before  she  could 
gain  his  attention. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Miss  Harford,"  he  said,  hastily;  he 
was  a  fair,  good-looking  man,  and  almost  gentlemanly  in 
manner.  "I  was  watching  the  game.  You  have  a  capital 
tennis-court." 

"  So  every  one  says.     Miss  Greenwell  is  our  best  player." 

"  She  plays  splendidly.  I  never  saw  such  strokes ;"  and  all 
through  the  brief  interview  Althea  noticed  how  his  eyes  were 
following  the  girl's  graceful  movements. 

"If  Nora  and  Minnie  had  not  been  playing,  I  think  I 
should  have  invited  him  to  have  a  game,"  she  said  afterwards 
to  Doreen;  "but  I  thought  of  Gardiner  pere,  and  was  afraid 
I  might  shock  his  sense  of  propriety. ' ' 

"It  would  not  have  been  good  taste,"  returned  Doreen, 
sensibly.  "You  may  depend  upon  it  that  Robert  Gardiner 
has  very  little  to  do  with  the  young  ladies  of  the  establish- 
ment. ' '     And  then  they  both  laughed. 

"By  the  bye,  Althea,"  observed  Mr.  Chaytor,  when  they 
had  finished  the  subject  of  Nora  Greenwell,  "I  am  so  glad 
you  have  taken  your  friends'  advice,  and  have  engaged  a 
reader.     I  am  sure  Miss  Ward  will  be  a  comfort  to  you. ' ' 

"  I  think  so,  too.  She  is  very  bright  and  intelligent,  and 
she  talks  in  the  most  amusing  way.  She  is  so  natural  and 
unsophisticated." 

"  So  I  should  imagine.     Where  did  you  pick  her  up?" 

"Doreen  applied  to  an  agency  in  Harley  Street.  But 
Thorold,"  and  here  her  voice  changed,  "  what  singular  coin- 
cidences there  are  in  life  !  Is  it  not  strange  that  she  should 
be  Everard  Ward's  daughter?" 

Mr.  Chaytor  was  now  sitting  beside  her,  and  as  she  said 
this  he  turned  round  and  looked  at  her.  He  was  evidently 
very  much  surprised. 

"  I  had  no  idea  of  that,"  he  said,  in  a  low  tone.  "  There 
are  so  many  Wards.  Such  a  thought  would  never  have 
occurred  to  me."  And  then  he  glanced  at  her  keenly.  "  Is 
it  not  a  little  awkward  for  you,  Althea?"  Then  a  faint  flush 
came  to  her  cheeks.     She  was  five  or  six  years  older  than 

122 


Orlando  to  the  Rescue 

Thorold,  but  they  had  been  old  playfellows  and  dear  friends, 
and  his  brother  had  been  one  of  Althea's  lovers  in  the  Kit- 
lands  days ;  and  he  knew  all  about  the  Ward  romance,  and, 
lad  as  he  was,  he  had  predicted  its  ending,  as  he  watched 
Dorothy  play  the  part  of  Rosalind  in  the  pastoral  play. 

"I  do  not  see  why  it  should  be  awkward,"  she  observed, 
quietly.  "  I  have  not  met  Mr.  Ward  for  twenty  years,  but  I 
should  have  no  objection  to  do  so  to-morrow.  He  is  very 
poor,  Thorold,  and  I  am  afraid  they  are  often  in  difficulties. 
His  pictures  do  not  sell  well." 

"  Perhaps  they  are  not  worth  much.  I  fancy  Ward's  genius 
is  purely  imaginary.  None  of  his  friends  believed  that  he 
would  do  much  as  an  artist.  Well,  it  is  getting  late,  and  I 
am  keeping  you  up,  aud  then  Doreen  will  scold  me.  Let  me 
help  you  turn  out  the  lights,  and  then  I  will  walk  with  you  to 
the  house.  It  is  a  glorious  night,  and  I  shall  enjoy  my  stroll 
home. ' ' 

But  as  they  stood  in  the  porch  a  moment  in  the  starlight, 
Althea  touched  his  arm. 

"How  is  Joa?"  she  asked,  kindly. 

"  She  is  quite  well!"  he  returned.  "Joanna  seldom  ails 
anything ;  but  she  is  no  happier,  poor  soul.  I  sometimes 
think  she  never  will  be."  Then  his  voice  grew  suddenly 
tired.  "I  do  not  profess  to  understand  women,  Althea.  I 
suppose  some  natures  are  naturally  depressed,  and  live  in  an 
atmosphere  of  worry;  but  they  are  scarcely  pleasant  house- 
mates. I  am  afraid  that  is  hardly  a  brotherly  speech ;"  and 
he  laughed  a  little  grimly  as  he  shook  hands. 

"Poor  Thorold!"  Althea  said  to  herself,  as  she  crossed 
the  hall.  "Joa  is  the  Old  Man  of  the  Mountains  to  him; 
she  is  a  dead  weight  on  him.  And  yet  how  seldom  he  utters 
a  word  of  complaint ! — scarcely  ever,  and  only  to  me.  But 
he  can  say  what  he  likes  to  me ;  he  knows  I  am  a  safe  con- 
fidante." 


123 


Mollie's  Prince 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

SIR    REYNARD   AND    THE   GRAPES. 

"  Her  angel's  face, 
As  the  great  eye  of  heaven,  shyned  bright. 
And  made  a  sunshine  in  the  shady  place." 

Spenser's  Faerie  Queene. 

It  is  the  opinion  of  certain  wiseacres  that  enjoyment  con- 
sists mainly  in  anticipation  and  retrospection,  and  that  the 
actual  pleasure  is  reduced  to  a  minimum.  But  to  Waveney 
her  first  Sunday  at  the  Red  House  was  simply  perfect.  Not 
the  shadow  of  a  shade  crossed  her  path  until  she  said  good- 
bye to  Mollie  in  the  evening. 

Even  the  weather  was  propitious,  and  when  the  morning 
mist  had  rolled  off  the  common,  another  of  those  golden 
days,  peculiar  to  Autumn,  seemed  to  flood  Erpingham  with 
warm,  mellow  sunshine. 

The  rich  brown  and  amber  tints  of  the  bracken  excited 
Waveney' s  admiration  as  they  crossed  a  corner  of  the  com- 
mon, on  their  way  to  church.  It  was  the  longest  way, 
Doreen  explained,  but  she  had  some  business  that  took  her  to 
the  upper  end  of  the  village.  Then  they  walked  slowly  down 
the  main  street  past  the  fountain  and  the  Roman  Catholic 
church,  with  its  old  lych-gate.  On  their  way  Waveney 
learned  how  the  sisters  spent  their  Sunday  afternoons. 

Doreen  always  went  to  the  Home  of  Rest  for  Workers. 
One  of  the  inmates  had  partially  lost  her  sight,  and  Doreen 
generally  read  to  her  and  wrote  her  letters.  It  was  her 
custom  to  remain  to  tea;  it  gave  the  matron  an  hour's  free- 
dom, and  made  a  change  for  the  ladies. 

The  Porch  House  was  always  thrown  open  for  the  girls'  use 
from  two  to  six  on  Sunday  afternoons.  There  was  no  meal 
provided,  but  some  of  them  liked  to  come  up  for  an  hour  or 
two's  reading  or  study,  or  to  meet  their  friends.  In  winter 
there  was  always  a  bright  fire  and  plenty  of  light,  and  Althea, 
stealing  down  the  dark  garden  paths,  would  peep,  unseen,  at 
the  merry  group  of  chattering  girls  gathered  round  the  fire. 

Althca's  Bible-class  was  always  held  in  the  dining-room  of 

124 


Sir  Reynard  and  the  Grapes 

the  Red  House.  About  twenty  girls  attended  it.  Waveney 
discovered  later  that  Althea  spent  most  of  her  mornings  pre- 
paring for  this  class ;  but  when  she  expressed  her  surprise  at 
the  amount  of  labour  it  involved,  Althea  only  smiled. 

"  My  dear,  it  is  very  necessary  labour,"  she  returned.  "  It 
is  no  easy  matter,  I  assure  you,  to  keep  ahead  of  girls  like 
Nora  Greenwell  and  Alice  Mitchell.  I  have  to  study  for  dear 
life,  and  sometimes  their  questions  are  so  difficult  to  answer 
that  I  have  to  apply  for  help  to  our  good  Vicar. 

"lam  very  fond  of  my  Sunday  work,"  she  said,  as  she  and 
Waveney  walked  slowly  on  until  Doreen  should  overtake 
them.  ' '  Two  or  three  of  the  girls  always  remain  to  tea.  I 
give  my  invitations  on  Thursday  evening ;  and  as  I  make  no 
distinction,  and  each  one  has  her  proper  turn,  there  is  no 
margin  for  jealousy.  I  limit  the  number  to  four,  as  I  like  my 
Sunday  tea-parties  to  be  cosy.  We  call  them  library  teas,  and 
Mrs.  Willis  is  generally  very  liberal  with  her  cakes.  Well, 
dear,  why  do  you  look  at  me  so  ?" 

"  I  was  only  thinking  how  full  your  life  is,  and  how  happy 
you  must  be  !"  returned  Waveney,  simply;  and  a  faint  flush 
rose  to  Althea' s  cheek. 

"  All  lives  ought  to  be  full,"  she  said,  gravely.  "  It  always 
makes  me  angry  when  people  talk  of  empty,  blighted,  or  dis- 
appointed lives ; ' '  and  her  tone  was  so  severe  that  Waveney 
felt  vaguely  surprised. 

"But,  Miss  Harford,"  she  observed,  timidly,  "a  great 
many  women  are  disappointed,  you  know." 

"Oh,  yes,  of  course,  life  is  as  full  of  disappointments  as 
this  bush  is  full  of  blackberries  this  morning.  But,  all  the 
same,  they  have  only  themselves  to  blame  if  their  existence  is 
dull  and  colourless.  There  is  too  much  mawkish  sentiment 
talked  at  the  present  day,"  she  went  on.  "I  was'  only  telling 
my  girls  so  the  other  day.  When  trouble  comes  to  a  woman 
— and  Heaven  knows  they  have  their  share  of  suffering :  I 
suppose,  for  their  soul's  good — it  is  no  good  creeping  along 
the  ground  like  a  bird  with  a  broken  wing ;  they  must  sum- 
mon all  their  pluck,  and  fight  their  way  through  the  thorns. 
Of  course,  even  the  brave  ones  get  a  little  torn  and  scarred, 
but  they  are  too  proud  to  show  their  wounds.  Look,  here 
comes  my  sister,  and  we  will  change  the  subject."  And  then, 
as  Doreen  joined  them,  they  walked  on  quickly;  but  Althea's 
blue  eyes  had  a  strange  glow  in  them. 

When  Waveney  reached  Sloane  Square  she  found  Mollie 

125 


Mollie's  Prince 

had  kept  her  word,  and  was  on  the  platform  to  receive  her. 
She  gave  a  little  cry  when  she  saw  Waveney,  and  more  than 
one  passer-by  looked  round  with  kindly  amusement  as  the 
sisters  rushed  into  each  other's  arms. 

"  Oh,  Mollie,  how  lovely  you  look  !  What  have  you  done 
to  yourself?"  But  Mollie  only  laughed.  And  then,  like  two 
children,  they  walked  up  the  stairs  hand-in-hand.  And  to 
Mollie  it  might  have  been  the  golden  ladder  that  leads  to 
Paradise.  Her  dearer  self,  her  twin  sister,  was  beside  her, 
and  the  five  blank  days  were  over. 

"  Father  and  Noel  have  gone  for  a  walk,"  she  said,  as  they 
turned  down  King  Street.  "  I  shall  have  you  to  myself  for  a 
whole  hour.  Oh,  Wave,  how  are  we  to  talk  fast  enough  ! — so 
much  has  happened  even  in  these  five  days  !  I  wish  I  could 
write  clever  letters  like  you.     But  I  am  so  stupid  !" 

"  Nonsense,  sweetheart.  Why,  I  loved  your  letters,  and 
always  slept  with  them  under  my  pillow. ' ' 

"Did  you,  really?  Oh,  Wave,  what  a  darling  you  are! 
But,  of  course,  I  did  the  same.  And  I  was  so  amused  at  your 
meeting  '  the  noticeable  man,  with  the  large  grey  eyes. ' 
Father  heard  me  chuckling,  and  he  insisted  on  my  reading 
your  letter  to  him ;  but  he  was  quite  startled  when  I  came  to 
Mr.  Chaytor's  name.     I  don't  think  he  was  quite  pleased." 

"What  makes  you  think  that,  Mollie,  dear." 

"  Oh,  he  frowned  and  bit  his  lip.  You  know  his  way. 
And  then  he  took  up  the  newspaper  and  cleared  his  throat. 
But  I  heard  him  mutter,  as  though  to  himself,  '  Another  of 
them.  Now  I  wonder  which  of  them  it  is.'  But,  as  you  only 
said  Mr.  Chaytor,  I  could  not  tell  him." 

"  It  was  Thorold,"  returned  Waveney.  And  then,  as  they 
came  in  sight  of  the  house,  she  kissed  her  hand  to  it  in  a  sort 
of  ecstasy.  "  Oh,  you  dear  old  place,  I  have  dreamt  of  you 
every  night !"  And  then,  as  Mollie  used  her  latch-key,  Mrs. 
Muggins  came  to  meet  them,  purring  loudly,  with  uplifted 
tail. 

"  Dear  me,  I  never  noticed  how  steep  and  narrow  the  stair- 
case is!"  remarked  Waveney,  innocently.  "And  Mollie, 
dear,  you  really  must  cause  father  to  get  some  new  stair- 
drugget.  Crimson  felt  would  look  so  nice  and  warm,  and 
would  not  cost  much."     But  Mollie  shook  her  head. 

"We  must  wait  for  that,  I  am  afraid,"  she  said,  sadly. 
Then  she  cheered  up.  "ifcit,  Wave,  father  has  got  such  a 
lovely  new  great-coat,  and  he  does  louk  so  nice  in  it ;  and 

126 


Sir  Reynard  and  the  Grapes 

Noel  insisted  on  his  getting  a  new  hat,  too.  I  tell  father  that 
he  will  be  ashamed  to  walk  with  me,  now  he  has  grown  such 
a  dandy."  And  then  Mollie  broke  off  in  confusion,  and 
began  to  blush,  for  Waveney's  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  round 
table  in  the  studio.  A  magnificent  basket  of  hot-house 
grapes  stood  in  the  centre. 

Waveney  regarded  it  with  the  look  of  a  cat  that  sees  cream. 
There  were  three  pounds  at  least,  and  the  purple  bloom  of  the 
fruit  made  a  rich  spot  of  colour  in  the  room. 

Waveney's  expression  was  inscrutable.  "Mollie,"  she 
said,  at  last,  "  the  Black  Prince  has  been  here  again." 

"Yes,  dear,"  stammered  Mollie,  with  the  air  of  a  culprit 
discovered  in  a  fault ;  "  but  I  did  not  expect  him — I  told  you 
so.  I  was  on  my  knees  darning  the  stair-carpets,  because 
father  caught  his  foot  in  a  hole  that  very  morning ;  and  when 
Ann  opened  the  door,  there  he  was,  and,  of  course,  he 
saw  me." 

"  Oh,  of  course,  there  is  nothing  wrong  with  Sir  Reynard's 
eyes,"  muttered  Waveney.  "They  are  very  good  eyes,  I 
should  say. ' '     But  this  remark  seemed  to  puzzle  Mollie. 

"Why  do  you  call  him  Reynard,  Waveney?  He  is  not 
sly,  not  a  bit  of  it.  He  was  so  funny.  He  wanted  to  help 
me  with  the  stair-carpet — he  said  he  was  a  good  hand  at  darn- 
ing ;  but  I  would  not  hear  of  such  a  thing,  and,  of  course,  I 
took  him  into  the  study." 

"Well,  child,  what  then?"  and  Waveney  seated  herself  on 
Grumps,  and  patted  the  sofa  gently  as  an  invitation  for  Mollie 
to  do  the  same.    "  And  then  Sir  Reynard  presented  his  grapes. ' ' 

Mollie  stamped  her  little  foot. 

"  I  will  not  have  it,  Waveney.  You  shall  not  call  our  nice 
little  Monsieur  Blackie  by  such  a  horrid  name.  Yes,  he 
offered  the  grapes  with  such  a  droll  little  speech ;  but  I  can't 
remember  exactly  what  he  said,  only  that  a  friend  of  his  had 
a  splendid  vinery,  and  he  always  sent  him  such  quantities  of 
grapes,  and  it  would  be  a  charity  to  help  him  to  eat  them, 
and  so  on. ' ' 

"Yes,  and  so  on.  And  you  said,  ' Thank  you,  my  dear 
Black  Prince.  You  are  very  generous  to  poor  little 
Cinderella.'" 

"Waveney,  if  you  talk  such  nonsense  I  won't  love  you  a 
bit.  Of  course  I  thanked  him — and  I  must  have  done  it 
nicely,  for  he  looked  pleased,  almost  as  though  he  were  re- 
lieved.     «  That's  right,'  he  said",  heartily.     <  What  a  sensible 

127  ' 


Mollie's  Prince 

young  lady  you  are,  Miss  Mollie  !  You  take  things  naturally 
and  as  you  ought — and  I  wanted  to  please  you.  You  know 
I  always  want  to  please  you.'  " 

Waveney  caught  her  breath,  and  there  was  almost  a  look 
of  fear  in  her  eyes. 

"  Did  he  say  those  very  words,  Mollie?" 

"Yes,  dear,"  in  a  tranquil  tone.  "And  I  am  sure  he 
meant  it,  too.  He  did  look  so  very  kind.  '  Do  you  know 
I  wanted  to  please  you  the  very  first  day  I  saw  you,'  he  went 
on,  '  and  it  has  been  the  same  every  day  since.  I  am  such  a 
lonely  sort  of  fellow  since  Gwen  left  me.  Gwen  is  my  sister, 
you  know.'  " 

"And  that  fetched  you,  of  course  ?"  But  Waveney  did  not 
speak  in  her  usual  tone.  And  how  she  watched  the  bright, 
speaking  face  beside  her. 

"Yes,  indeed,  I  thought  of  you,  and  I  asked  such  a  lot  of 
questions  about  this  Gwendoline,  and  I  am  sure  he  liked 
answering  them.  She  is  not  pretty,  Wave,  not  a  bit — ugly, 
in  fact ;  but  her  husband  adores  her.  She  is  very  tall  and 
graceful,  but  he  told  me  he  would  not  show  me  the  picture 
he  had  in  his  pocket,  because  plain  people  were  not  in  my 
line.  Wasn't  that  a  funny  speech?  And  then  we  had  a 
quarrel ;  but  he  stuck  to  his  point.  He  said  he  hoped  that 
some  day  he  would  be  able  to  introduce  her  to  us,  and  that 
he  would  rather  wait  till  then.  But,  Wave,  what  am  I  think- 
ing about?  I  meant  you  to  have  some  grapes. "  And  then 
she  jumped  up  from  her  seat  and  limped  quickly  to  the 
table,  and  for  a  moment  Waveney' s  eyes  were  a  little  misty. 

"How  innocent  she  is!  What  a  child!  But  I  dare  not 
enlighten  her,"  she  said  to  herself.  "I  wonder  what  father 
thinks.  If  I  can,  I  will  just  give  him  a  hint.  I  think  he 
ought  to  find  out  who  Mr.  Ingram  really  is  ;  we  know  nothing 
about  him.  He  may  be  in  earnest — very  likely  he  is ;  but  he 
ought  not  to  come  when  Mollie  is  alone." 

The  hour  passed  all  too  quickly,  and  just  as  Waveney  was 
giving  a  full  description  of  Thursday  evening  her  father's 
voice  made  her  start  from  her  seat  and  fly  downstairs ;  but 
there  was  no  one  that  day  to  liken  her  to  Titania.  How 
Everard's  face  brightened  at  the  sight  of  his  darling!  And 
even  Noel  "chortled  in  his  joy,"  to  use  his  favourite  ex- 
pression. He  actually  submitted  to  be  kissed  twice  without 
making  a  wry  face,  though  he  immediately  turned  up  the 
collar  of  his  coat. 

128 


Sir  Reynard  and  the  Grapes 

"  It  has  been  rather  tropical  lately,"  he  observed,  blandly, 
"but  now  old  '  Storm-and-Stress'  has  come,  we  must  look  out 
for  draughts. ' '  But  Waveney  was  admiring  the  great-coat, 
and  took  no  notice. 

"  It  is  father '  s  turn, ' '  exclaimed  Mollie,  cheerfully.  ' '  Noel, 
you  must  come  and  help  me  get  tea  ready.  We  shall  have  it 
in  the  studio,  of  course;"  and  then  she  stumped  off  to  the 
kitchen,  and  Waveney  and  her  father  went  upstairs. 

They  had  a  little  talk  together.  Everard  asked  a  few  ques- 
tions about  his  old  friends,  and  seemed  much  interested  in  all 
Waveney 's  descriptions. 

"  I  think  you  have  a  good  berth,  dear,"  he  said,  presently, 
"and  that  you  are  likely  to  be  very  happy  with  the  Misses 
Harford." 

"Yes,  father,  and  I  am  sure  that  I  shall  soon  learn  to 
love  Miss  Althea — Good  Queen  Bess,  as  I  call  her.  But — 
but" — the  colour  rising  to  her  face,  as  she  squeezed  his  arm 
with  her  little  hands — "I  would  rather  be  at  home  with  my 
dad." 

"  I  know  that,  darling,  and  dad  has  missed  his  little  girl 
badly.  By  the  bye,  Waveney,  there  seems  a  plentiful  crop  of 
ghosts  at  the  Red  House.  Mollie  tells  me  that  the  other  night 
you  met  a  Mr.  Chaytor. ' ' 

"Yes,  father,  Mr.  Thorold  Chaytor.  He  seemed  very 
nice,  and  he  read  so  beautifully.  Miss  Althea  says  he  is 
a  barrister — but  that,  though  he  is  so  clever,  he  gets  few 
briefs,  and  that  he  ekes  out  his  income  by  doing  literary 
work. ' ' 

"He  was  always  a  clever  fellow,"  returned  Mr.  Ward; 
"but  I  remember  I  liked  Tristram  best.  Poor  old  Trist,  he 
was  a  bit  soft  on  Althea.  I  remember  how  angry  he  was 
when  some  one  told  him  it  was  lad's  love.  Thorold  was  a 
cut  above  us,  and  we  were  rather  in  awe  of  him.  I  wonder 
what  sort  of  looking  fellow  he  is  now." 

"  He  is  tall  and  rather  distinguished  looking.  I  mean,  people 
cannot  help  noticing  him."  Then  Mr.  Ward's  eyes  twinkled 
mischievously. 

"'A  noticeable  man,'  eh,  Waveney?  'with  large  grey 
eyes?'  '       Then  Waveney  blushed  and  laughed. 

"  What  a  perfidious  Mollie  !     But,  father,  it  is  really  such 
a  true  description  !     Mr.  Chaytor  is  quite  plain  and  ordinary- 
looking,  and  he  is  old,  too, — five-and-thirty,  I  should  say;  but 
when  he  speaks  you  would  never  call  him  plain." 
9  129 


Mollie's  Prince 

"No,  I  know  what  you  mean.  But  his  brother  Tristram 
was  a  very  handsome  man." 

"  Did  you  know  them  well,  father?" 

"  Very  well,  indeed.  The  Chaytors  lived  at  the  old  Manor 
House — their  grandfather  had  bought  it.  It  was  a  fine  old 
place,  about  two  miles  from  Kitlands,  and  when  I  visited 
them  they  lived  in  good  style  and  entertained  largely.  Old 
Chaytor,  as  we  called  him,  was  fond  of  life  and  gaiety; 
though  we  youngsters  knew  little  about  it,  he  kept  racers, 
and  about  the  time  I  married,  his  losses  were  so  heavy 
that  they  could  no  longer  afford  to  live  in  the  old  Manor 
House." 

"Were  there  only  those  two  brothers,  father,  dear?" 

"  No,  there  was  a  sister  Joanna — Joa  they  called  her — a 
pretty,  fair  girl ;  she  and  Althea  were  great  friends.  She  was 
engaged  to  Leslie  Parker.  The  Parkers  were  neighbours  of 
theirs ;  they  lived  in  a  quaint  old  house  in  the  village,  called 
The  Knolls,  but  I  heard  afterwards  that,  when  the  old  Manor 
House  was  sold,  and  Mr.  Chaytor  died,  the  marriage  was 
broken  off.  I  never  cared  much  for  the  Parkers ;  they  were 
a  mercenary  lot.  All  the  sons  married  women  with  money. 
But  it  was  hard  lines  on  poor  little  Joa. ' ' 

"  Oh,  father,  how  dreadfully  interesting  all  this  is  !  1  do 
so  love  ancient  history. ' ' 

"It  was  by  no  means  interesting  for  the  Chaytors,"  re- 
turned Mr.  Ward,  with  a  laugh.  "  Old  Chaytor's  love  for  the 
turf  ruined  them.  When  he  died,  his  sons  found  that  his  affairs 
were  hopelessly  involved,  and  that  he  had  left  heavy  debts. 
I  had  lost  sight  of  them  by  that  time ;  but  I  heard  a  year  or 
two  afterwards  that  Mrs.  Chaytor  was  dead,  too,  and  that  Tris- 
tram had  gone  to  New  Zealand.  Rumour  said  that  he  had 
turned  out  unsatisfactorily,  and  that  his  brother  had  shipped 
him  off,  but  I  know  nothing  more." 

"  Neither  do  I,  except  they  are  living  in  a  dull-looking 
house  in  Dereham."  And  then  Mollie  limped  in  with  the 
tea-tray,  and  Noel  followed,  carrying  a  huge  plum  cake  on 
his  head,  like  one  of  the  black  slaves  in  the  "Arabian 
Nights."  And  then,  as  he  made  an  obeisance  like  Lord 
Bateman's  "proud  young  porter,"  it  rolled  to  his  feet;  after 
which  Mollie  boxed  his  ears,  and  his  father  called  him  a 
young  ass. 

They  had  a  merry  tea,  and  then  they  drew  round  the  fire 
and  sang  hymns;  and  church-time  came  only  too  quickly. 

130 


"Like  Ships  that  pass  in  the  Night" 

Waveney  had  her  old  place  between  her  father  and  Mollie ; 
and  when  the  gas  was  turned  down  during  the  sermon,  Mollie 
slipped  her  hand  into  hers. 

And  a  dark  young  man,  who  was  sitting  a  few  pews  behind 
them,  watched  them  attentively  through  the  service ;  and, 
when,  in  the  dusk,  he  saw  Mollie  nestle  up  to  her  sister,  a 
great  softness  came  into  his  eyes,  and  he  said  to  himself, 
"Poor  little  thing!" 

But  as  Noel  strutted  beside  his  sisters  on  the  way  to  the 
station  to  see  Waveney  off,  he  said  a  thing  that  surprised  them. 

'""  Did  you  see  my  friend  the  Idealist !"  he  asked,  with  his 
chin  elevated.  "My  word,  he  looked  quite  the  swagger 
gentleman  in  his  new  frock  coat." 

"  Do  you  mean  Monsieur  Blackie  !"  asked  Waveney;  and 
she  pressed  Mollie' s  arm  involuntarily.  She  had  had  no 
opportunity  of  giving  her  father  that  hint,  and  now  she  must 
wait  for  another  week. 

"  Yes,  Monsieur  Blackie — Monsieur  Blackie — Monsieur 
Blackie,"  returned  the  provoking  lad,  in  a  falsetto  squeak. 
"Hold  hard,  father,  you  have  nearly  landed  me  into  the 
gutter." 

And  then  a  little,  dark  gentleman,  who  was  following  them 
unperceived,  gave  a  low  laugh.  "  My  friend  the  humorist  at 
his  tricks  again,"  he  murmured.  "IwishGwen  could  see 
that  lad;  she  would  love  him." 


CHAPTER   XVII. 
"like  ships  that  pass  in  the  night." 

"  The  situation  that  has  not  its  Duty,  its  Ideal,  was  never  yet  occupied 
by  man.  Yes,  here  in  this  miserable,  despicable  actual  wherein  thou  even 
now  standest,  here  or  nowhere  is  thy  Ideal.  Work  it  out  therefore.  The 
Ideal  is  in  thyself,  the  impediment  too  is  in  thyself." 

Carlyle. 

*'  Something  there  was  in  her  life  incomplete,  imperfect,  unfinished." 

Longfellow. 

One  evening,  about  a  week  later,  Thorold  Chaytor  walked 
quickly  over  the  Dereham  bridge  on  his  way  from  the  station. 
His  day,  as  usual,  had  been  spent  in  his  dingy  chambers  in 


Mollie's  Prince 

Lincoln's  Inn;  he  had  worked  hard,  and  felt  unusually  weary, 
and  the  damp  chilliness  of  the  mists  rising  from  the  river 
made  him  shiver  and  button  up  his  coat  more  closely. 

A  slight  mizzling  rain  was  now  falling ;  the  pavements 
were  wet  and  greasy;  the  gas  lights  on  the  towing  path 
seemed  to  waver  and  then  flare  up  with  windy  flickers ;  the 
black  hulls  of  the  boats  and  barges  moored  to  the  shore 
loomed  through  the  mist  like  vast  monsters  weltering  in  the 
mud ;  and  the  grey  river  flowing  under  the  bridges  washed 
silently  against  the  piers  in  the  darkness. 

Mr.  Chay tor's  chambers  in  Lincoln's  Inn  were  high  up, 
and  very  small  and  inconvenient — "  Chay  tor's  sky  parlour," 
some  of  his  friends  called  it,  for  in  reality  it  consisted  of  only 
one  room  and  a  good-sized  cupboard  ;  but  the  view  of  chim- 
ney-pots from  the  window  was  certainly  unique.  To  be  sure, 
it  was  somewhat  cold  in  winter,  and  at  times  the  chimney  was 
given  to  smoking,  and  in  summer  it  certainly  resembled  the 
Black  Hole  in  Calcutta;  but  these  were  trifles  to  be  borne 
stoically,  if  not  cheerfully. 

In  this  den  Thorold  Chaytor  did  most  of  his  literary 
work,  and  waited  for  briefs ;  nor  did  he  wait  wholly  in  vain. 

Althea  had  spoken  of  him  as  a  poor  man,  and  this  opinion 
was  shared  by  many  others.  When  old  friends  of  the  family, 
who  had  visited  at  the  old  Manor  House,  came  down  to  the 
dull,  shabby-looking  house  in  High  Street,  where  Thorold 
and  his  sister  lived,  they  used  to  sigh  and  shrug  their 
shoulders. 

"It  was  grievous,"  they  would  say.  "No  wonder  poor 
Joanna  looked  so  old  and  careworn !  And  they  only  kept 
one  servant,  too;"  and  then  they  would  talk,  under  their 
breath,  of  the  wasteful  extravagance  at  the  old  Manor  House, 
and  then  of  that  racing  establishment  at  Newmarket,  to  which 
the  Chaytor  fortunes  had  been  sacrificed. 

But  if  Thorold  and  Joanna  practised  rigid  economy,  and 
only  kept  one  servant,  it  was  because  they  stinted  themselves 
of  their  own  free-will. 

Thorold  Chaytor  was  not  really  poor ;  his  literary  work  was 
successful,  and  his  papers  on  social  questions  were  so  brilliant 
and  versatile,  so  teeming  with  thought  and  sparkles  of  wit, 
that  he  was  already  making  his  mark  as  a  clever  writer. 

And  in  his  own  profession  he  was  not  doing  so  badly. 
Quite  recently  he  had  distinguished  himself  in  some  case. 
"Chaytor  is  a  clear-headed  lawyer;  he  is  sharp  and  has  plenty 


"Like  Ships  that  pass  in  the  Night" 

of  brains,"   his  friends  would  say;    "he  will  get  on   right 
enough,  if  he  does  not  kill  himself  with  work  first." 

Thorold  loved  his  work.  The  hours  spent  in  that  grimy 
den  were  full  of  enjoyment  to  him;  he  was  equally  happy 
solving  some  legal  problem  or  doing  some  of  his  journalistic 
work ;  his  clear,  strong  brains  delighted  in  labour. 

He  had  one  curious  companion  of  his  solitude— a  small, 
yellow  cat,  who  had  only  three  legs,  whom  he  had  rescued 
from  a  violent  death,  and  who  refused  to  leave  him. 

Sisera  was  not  an  attractive  animal,  but  his  heart  was  in  the 
right  place ;  he  adored  his  master,  and  when  Thorold's  step 
sounded  on  the  stairs  in  the  morning,  Sisera  would  jump  off 
the  old  coat  on  the  shelf,  where  he  was  accustomed  to  pass 
the  night,  and  limp  with  loud  purrs  to  the  door. 

Sisera  was  as  much  a  hermit  as  his  master ;  he  took  his 
exercise  among  the  chimney-pots,  and  never  went  downstairs, 
where  unseen  enemies  lurked  unnumbered  for  him.  He  had 
his  pennyworth  of  milk,  and  his  skewer  of  cats'  meat,  and  a 
share  of  his  master's  frugal  luncheon ;  and  on  Sundays  the 
fat  old  housekeeper  toiled  up  the  stairs  and  deposited  the 
rations  for  the  day,  grumbling  as  she  did  so. 

But,  although  Thorold  already  earned  a  fair  income,  he 
lived  as  though  he  were  poor,  and  both  he  and  his  sister  were 
almost  parsimonious  in  their  habits ;  but  not  even  Althea, 
who  was  their  closest  fried,  did  more  than  guess  at  the  reason 
for  all  this  thrift.  Thorold  had  set  himself  an  Herculean 
task— to  pay  his  father's  debts— and  in  this  Joanna  had  will- 
ingly helped  him;  with  all  her  faults  and  failings,  she  was  a 
good  woman,  and  her  sense  of  honour  was  almost  as  strong 
as  his. 

Thorold  was  still  at  Oxford  when  his  father  died.  His 
brother  Tristram  was  three  or  four  years  older.  He  had  been 
summoned  in  haste  to  the  death-bed ;  but,  to  his  relief,  his 
father  recognised  him. 

"  It  is  a  bad  business,  my  boy,"  he  said,  faintly,  as  Thorold 
took  his  hand.  "  If  I  could  only  have  my  life  again,  I  would 
do  differently;"  and  a  few  minutes  later,  when  they  thought 
he  was^  sleeping,  he  opened  his  eyes.  "  Never  get  into  debt, 
Tnst,  he  murmured.  "It  is  hard  for  a  man  to  die  peace- 
fully with  a  millstone  round  his  neck."  And  Thorold  was 
struck  by  the  look  of  anguish  that  crossed  his  face. 

"Father,"  he  said,  gently,  for  he  was  young  and  impres- 
sionable, and  perhaps,  in  his  wish  to  give  comfort,  he  hardly 

i33 


Mollie's  Prince 

knew  what  he  was  saying.  "Father,  you  shall  die  in  peace; 
and  Trist  and  I  will  work  hard,  and  pay  your  debts." 

"Yes,  yes,"  murmured  Tristram,  with  a  sob;  "we  will  pay 
them,  dad." 

Then  a  wonderful  smile  came  over  the  sick  man's  face. 

"Good  lads,  good  lads,"  he  muttered.  "God  bless  you 
both  !"  Those  were  his  last  words;  but,  even  as  he  lay  in  his 
coffin,  Thorold  began  to  realise  that  the  millstone  was  already 
round  his  own  neck. 

Those  first  few  years  that  followed  his  father's  death  were 
very  sad  ones  to  Thorold.  His  mother's  failing  health,  and 
Joanna's  disappointment,  embittered  the  peace  of  their  home; 
and,  worse  than  all,  Tristram  became  a  care  to  them.  He 
had  been  brought  up  in  expectation  of  a  fortune ;  and,  as  far 
as  work  was  concerned,  his  life  at  the  university  had  been  a 
failure. 

"What  does  it  matter  whether  I  grind  or  not?"  he  would 
say.  "I  am  having  a  good  old  time,  and  the  governor  will 
pay  my  debts."  And  when  the  evil  days  came,  and  George 
Chaytor's  sons  had  to  put  their  shoulders  to  the  wheel 
and  earn  their  bread,  there  seemed  nothing  that  Tristram 
could  do. 

Again  and  again  a  berth  had  been  found  for  him,  but  he 
had  failed  to  keep  it.  Either  he  had  been  wanting  in  steadi- 
ness or  application,  or  he  had  lost  his  temper  and  quarrelled 
with  his  employer.  "  He  is  not  worth  his  salt!"  one  of  them 
said  angrily  to  Thorold. 

In  sheer  desperation,  Thorold  went  to  an  old  cousin  who 
had  already  shown  him  a  great  deal  of  kindness;  and,  with 
his  help,  Tristram  was  equipped  and  shipped  off  to  New 
Zealand. 

"  Perhaps  he  will  do  better  in  a  new  world,"  Thorold  said, 
when  Joanna  bewailed  his  departure  rather  bitterly.  Tristram 
was  her  darling;  she  loved  him  far  better  than  she  did  Thorold. 
Like  many  other  prodigals,  Tristram  Chaytor  was  not  without 
his  endearing  qualities.  Women  loved  him,  and  he  was  good 
to  them ;  but  in  character  he  was  selfish  and  unstable  as  water, 
and  very  prone  to  fall  into  temptation.  Already,  as  Thorold 
knew,  he  had  become  addicted  to  low  pleasures.  His  friends 
were  worthless  and  dissipated;  but  Joanna,  who  was  mildly 
obstinate  on  occasion,  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  all  Thorold's  hints 
on  this  subject. 

Tristram  seemed  to  do  better  for  a  time  in  his  new  environ- 

134 


"Like  Ships  that  pass  in  the  Night" 

merit.     Then  he  foolishly  married  some  pretty,  penniless  girl 
who  took  his  fancy,  and  after  that  they  lost  sight  of  him. 

Thorold  was  thinking  of  him  now  as  he  walked  over  the  wet 
bridge;  although  he  was  a  ne'er-do-well,  he  was  his  only 
brother,  and  in  the  old  days  they  had  been  close  chums  and 
playfellows. 

"  Dear  old  Trist,"  he  said  to  himself.  "  I  wonder  what  he 
is  doing  now,  and  if  Ella  makes  him  a  good  wife."  And  then, 
in  the  darkness,  Tristram's  handsome  face  and  tender,  humour- 
ous smile  seemed  to  rise  vividly  before  him.  He  could  even 
hear  his  voice,  clear  and  boyish,  close  to  his  ear — "Well 
played,  old  chappie — but  it  was  a  fluke  for  all  that ! ' ' 

"What  on  earth  makes  me  think  of  Trist  to-night?" 
Thorold  asked  himself,  in  some  perplexity — but  if  he  had  only 
guessed  the  truth,  he  need  not  have  puzzled  himself:  at  that 
very  moment,  under  the  flickering,  wind-blown  gaslight,  the 
brothers  had  passed  each  other  without  recognition,  "  like 
ships  that  pass  in  the  night." 

Thorold  was  trying  to  keep  his  umbrella  steady,  and  took  no 
notice  of  the  passenger,  who  almost  brushed  his  elbow — though 
he  heard  a  small,  childish  voice  say,  "I  don't  like  English  rain, 
father."     But  the  answer  did  not  reach  him. 

"Aye,  it  is  a  bit  saft,  Bet — as  the  Scotch  folk  say.  Creep 
under  my  Inverness  cape,  little  one,  and  it  will  keep  you 
dry."  And  then  the  little  feet  toiled  on  wearily  and  bravely 
in  the  darkness. 

As  Thorold  let  himself  in  with  his  latch-key,  the  parlour- 
door  was  opened  hastily,  and  a  woman's  face  peeped  out  anx- 
iously. "Is  that  you,  Thorold?"  Then  the  man  bit  his  lip 
with  sudden  irritation.  Day  after  day,  month  after  month, 
this  was  Joanna's  never-varying  formula — until  "  Is  that  you, 
Thorold  ?' '  seemed  to  be  dinned  into  his  brain  like  a  monot- 
onous sing-song. 

"Who  should  it  be"  he  longed  to  answer  this  evening. 
"  What  other  fellow  do  you  suppose  would  let  himself  in  with 
my  latch-key."  But  he  controlled  himself — Joanna  had  no 
sense  of  humour,  and  did  not  understand  sarcasm.  "Yes, 
here  I  am,  as  large  as  life,"  he  returned,  cheerfully.  "But 
don't  touch  me,  dear,  for  I  am  a  trifle  wet.  Is  supper  ready  ? 
I  will  just  change  my  coat,  and  be  with  you  in  a  moment. 
Ah!  Rabat-la- Koum,"  as  a  big,  grey  Persian  cat  rubbed 
against  his  legs,  "so  you  are  there,  old  mother  of  all  the  cats; 
and  you  are  coming  up  with  me,  eh?" 

i35 


Mollie's  Prince 

"  Don't  forget  to  rub  your  feet,  Thorold.  There  were  marks 
on  the  landing  carpet  yesterday ;"  and  then  Joanna  went  back 
to  pick  up  her  knitting,  feeling  that  she  had  properly  wel- 
comed her  brother. 

Joanna  Chaytor  had  been  a  pretty  girl,  with  that  soft, 
rounded  prettiness  that  belongs  to  youth;  but  at  six-and- 
thirty  she  was  faded  and  old-maidish.  Doreen  and  Althea, 
who  were  several  years  older,  scarcely  looked  their  age,  but 
Joanna  had  worn  badly. 

Disappointment  and  sorrow,  and  the  small,  carking  cares  of 
daily  life,  had  washed  away  the  pretty  bloom  from  her  cheeks, 
and  had  sharpened  the  lines  of  her  face.  Her  brown  hair  was 
streaked  with  grey,  and  though  her  figure  was  still  graceful  and 
she  dressed  youthfully,  strangers  always  thought  she  was  at  least 
forty-five. 

Women  are  as  old  as  they  feel,  people  say,  but  in  that  case 
Joanna  would  have  been  seventy  at  least. 

To  her  the  drama  of  life  had  been  wholly  tragical.  She  had 
lost  her  father  and  the  mother  she  adored,  and  the  beloved 
home  of  her  childhood.  The  man  to  whom  she  had  given 
her  young  affections  and  whom  she  looked  upon  as  her  future 
husband,  had  basely  deserted  her  in  her  adversity ;  and,  as 
though  this  were  not  enough,  her  favourite  brother  was  in 
exile,  separated  from  her  by  the  weary  ocean. 

If  Joanna  had  married  Leslie  Parker,  she  would  have  made 
an  excellent  wife  and  mother ;  but  her  present  environment 
did  not  suit  her.  She  grew  thin  and  weedy,  as  Althea  once 
phrased  it.  Joanna  was  not  a  clever  woman  ;  she  was  dense 
and  emotional,  and  her  mild  obstinacy  and  tenacity  were 
powerful  factors  in  her  daily  life.  She  had  long  ago  shelved 
her  deeper  griefs;  but  a  never-ending  crop  of  minor  worries 
furnished  her  with  topics  of  conversation. 

Thorold  was  fond  of  his  sister,  but  she  was  no  companion 
to  him.  His  calm,  self-restrained  nature  was  the  very  anti- 
podes of  Joanna's  fretful  and  nervous  temperament.  Man- 
like, he  failed  to  understand  why  the  dust  and  sweepings  of 
the  day  should  be  brought  for  his  inspection.  Joanna  had 
not  toiled  long  hours  in  hard,  strenuous  brain  labour,  in  a 
grimy  attic,  with  a  three-legged  Sisera  curled  up  at  her  feet ; 
her  work  had  been  light,  compared  to  his. 

Sometimes,  when  he  felt  lonely  and  weary,  and  the  need 
for  companionship  was  unusually  strong,  he  would  try  and 
interest  her  in  his  day's  work;-  but  it  was  always  a  failure. 

136 


"Like  Ships  that  pass  in  the  Night" 

She  would  listen,  and  then  her  attention  would  fly  off  at  a 
tangent,  or  he  would  see  her  trying  to  stifle  a  yawn. 

There  was  something  he  wanted  to  tell  her  this  evening ; 
for  the  day  had  been  eventful  to  him.  If  Althea  had  been 
his  sister,  he  would  have  followed  her  into  the  sitting-room, 
wet  as  he  was,  and  would  have  told  her  triumphantly  that  his 
foot  was  on  the  rung  of  the  ladder  at  last,  and  that  he  had 
begun  to  climb  in  earnest.  And  he  would  have  told  her,  too, 
that  before  long  their  father's  debts  would  be  all  cleared  off. 

Thorold  had  not  done  this  unaided.  About  eighteen 
months  before,  the  old  cousin  who  had  come  to  his  assistance 
with  Tristram,  died,  and,  with  the  exception  of  five  hundred 
pounds  to  Joanna,  left  all  his  savings,  amounting  to  several 
thousands,  to  Thorold. 

Thorold  never  consulted  any  one  ;  he  asked  no  advice  ;  he 
paid  in  twelve  hundred  pounds  at  his  banker's,  that  it  might 
be  ready  for  a  rainy  day,  and  then  he  went  around  to  his 
father's  creditors,  paying  off  each  one  by  turn.  The  racing 
debts  had  been  settled  years  ago,  in  his  father's  lifetime,  by 
the  sale  of  the  old  Manor  House  and  the  lands  adjoining ; 
but  he  had  lived  recklessly,  and  his  creditors  were  many. 
He  owed  large  sums  to  a  carriage- builder  in  Baker  Street, 
and  to  his  tailor,  wine  merchant,  and  other  tradespeople. 
One  of  them,  a  small  jobbing  carpenter,  who  lived  in  the 
village,  stared  incredulously  at  the  cheque  in  his  hand  and 
then  fairly  burst  out  crying. 

"It  is  for  joy,  Mr.  Thorold,"  cried  the  poor  fellow,  rub- 
bing his  coat-sleeve  across  his  eyes,  "  for  I  never  expected  to 
see  a  penny  of  the  squire's  money,  and  we  have  had  hard 
times  lately.  Business  has  been  slack,  and  my  missis  has 
been  poorly  and  run  up  a  doctor's  bill,  and  God  bless  you, 
sir,  for  your  honest  dealing  with  a  poor  man,  for  I  shall  be 
able  to  keep  the  shop  together  now."  And  for  that  after- 
noon at  least  Thorold  felt  a  lightening  of  the  millstone  round 
his  neck. 

Joanna  looked  at  him  a  little  tearfully  when  he  showed  her 
the  receipted  bills.  She  was  not  too  dense  to  understand 
the  grandeur  of  the  action.  How  few  men  would  have  con- 
sidered themselves  bound  by  a  few  impulsive  words  gasped 
out  by  a  deathbed  ! 

"You  have  used  all  Cousin  Rupert's  money  in  paying 
father's  debts,"  she  said;  and  there  was  a  queer  look  in 
her  eyes. 

137 


Mollie's  Prince 

"  No,  dear,"  he  returned,  gently,  "  I  have  not  spent  it  all. 
I  am  keeping  twelve  hundred  pounds  for  a  rainy  day.  I 
thought  that  would  be  only  right.  But,  Joa,  there  are  only 
two  bills  left,  and  most  of  the  things  owing  were  for  Tris- 
tram. ' ' 

"Tristram!"  in  a  startled  voice.  "Are  you  sure  of 
that?" 

«  Yes— things  that  he  wanted  at  Oxford  and  that  father 
ordered ;  but  three  or  four  hundred  will  clear  off  the  whole 
account." 

"Thorold,"  returned  his  sister,  plaintively — and  now  she 
was  actually  crying — "you  do  not  expect  me  to  help  with 
my  money  ?' ' 

"  No,  of  course  not.  What  an  idea  !"  he  replied,  hastily  ; 
but  all  the  same  he  felt  vaguely  surprised.  All  these  years 
Joanna  had  stinted  herself  of  comforts,  had  scraped  and 
saved  and  pared  down  every  unnecessary  expense  with  un- 
grudging cheerfulness,  and  with  all  her  grumblings  and  wor- 
ries she  had  never  said  one  word  of  blame  on  this  score. 
And  now  she  was  hugging  her  small  fortune  almost  jealously. 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  dear,  but  I  cannot  give  you  my  money," 
she  went  on  quickly.  "It  is  my  own  money,  you  know. 
Dear  Cousin  Rupert  left  it  to  me.  I  have  helped  you  as  well 
as  I  could  all  these  years,  but  I  must  keep  this  for  my  very 
own. ' ' 

"Of  course  you  shall  keep  it,"  returned  her  brother;  for 
Joanna  was  growing  quite  excited.  "I  sr.ppose  you  will  put 
it  into  the  London  &  County  Bank." 

"Yes,  that  will  be  best;  and  then  I  can  get  it  out  easily." 

"The  consols  would  be  better,  perhaps,"  he  continued, 
musingly;  "and  you  would  get  more  interest.  Or  you 
might  buy  some  of  those  shares  that  Doreen  was  mentioning. ' ' 

"No,  no.  I  prefer  the  London  &  County,"  returned 
Joanna,  obstinately.  "  Let  me  do  what  I  like  with  my  own 
money." 

And  Thorold  said  no  more.  But  now  and  then  he  won- 
dered if  Joanna  had  drawn  on  her  secret  hoard.  As  far  as 
he  could  see  she  had  bought  nothing  fresh  for  the  house,  and 
certainly  not  for  her  dress,  during  the  last  eighteen  months, 
and  their  bill  of  fare  was  not  more  luxurious. 


138 


Joanna  tangles  her  Skein 
CHAPTER   XVIII. 

JOANNA   TANGLES   HER   SKEIN. 

"A  child  of  our  grandmother  Eve,  a  female;  or,  for  thy  more  sweet 
understanding,  a  woman." 

Shakespeare. 

11  Men  are  born  with  two  eyes,  but  with  one  tongue,  in  order  that  they 
should  see  twice  as  much  as  they  say." 

Colton. 

The  house  in  High  Street  where  the  Chaytors  lived  was 
somewhat  dingy  and  uninviting  in  its  outward  aspect,  but  in- 
side it  was  not  without  its  advantages. 

A  small  paved  court  separated  it  from  the  street ;  and  at 
night  its  front  windows  were  illuminated  by  the  flaring  gas- 
lights from  the  opposite  shops.  All  day  long  the  ceaseless 
patter  of  foot-passengers  on  the  pavement,  and  the  rumble 
and  rattle  of  cabs,  omnibuses,  and  carts,  made  the  narrow 
windows  shake  in  their  frames.  And  it  was  far  into  the  night 
before  silence  brooded  over  the  old  town. 

On  one  side  of  the  passage  was  a  small  room  where  Thorold 
kept  a  good  many  of  his  books  and  papers.  It  was  called 
the  study,  but  he  never  sat  there.  Joanna  had  long  ago 
proved  to  him  that  with  one  servant  and  a  limited  purse,  an 
extra  fire  would  be  quite  a  sinful  extravagance.  It  was  for 
this  reason  too  that  she  so  seldom  used  her  drawing-room. 
It  was  a  pretty  room  on  the  first  floor,  with  a  pleasant  view 
of  the  garden,  and  in  summer  she  liked  to  sit  at  the  open 
window  with  her  work,  and  watch  Thorold  digging  and 
raking  in  the  borders.  Gardening  was  his  favourite  amuse- 
ment, and  he  took  great  pride  in  his  flower-beds.  Some- 
times, when  she  had  leisure,  Joanna  would  weed  or  water  a 
little ;  but  she  always  made  much  of  these  labours. 

The  room  they  mostly  used  was  a  large  one  on  the  ground 
floor.  It  extended  from  the  front  to  the  back  of  the  house, 
and  the  two  narrow  windows  at  the  farther  end  overlooked 
the  shady  old  garden. 

This  part  of  the  room  was  furnished  as  a  study.  The 
stained    book-shelves  were   loaded   with   ponderous-looking 

139 


Mollie's  Prince 

books.  A  writing-table  occupied  one  window,  and  two  com- 
fortable easy-chairs,  and  Joanna's  overflowing  work-basket, 
stood  on  either  side  of  the  fireplace.  A  book-stand  and  a 
reading-lamp  were  by  Thorold's  chair;  the  front  portion  of 
the  room  was  used  for  their  meals. 

When  Thorold  came  down  that  evening  the  room  looked 
warm  and  cosy.  The  crimson  curtains  were  drawn,  and  a 
bright  fire  blazed  cheerfully.  The  supper  was  laid,  and 
Jemima  had  just  brought  in  a  small,  covered  dish,  and  placed 
it  before  her  mistress.  Thorold  was  hungry,  for  his  luncheon 
had  been  a  light  one.  For  a  wonder,  the  chops  were  well 
cooked  and  hot ;  and  as  he  helped  himself  to  the  nicely 
browned  mashed  potatoes,  he  felt  disposed  to  enjoy  himself. 
He  would  tell  Joanna  about  his  visit  to  Murdoch  &  Williams. 
She  would  be  interested ;  and  for  once  they  would  have  a 
sociable  evening.  He  even  thought  that  he  would  ask  for  a 
cup  of  coffee,  as  he  felt  chilled  and  tired.  And  then,  by 
way  of  making  himself  pleasant,  he  commended  Jemima's 
cookery. 

It  was  an  unfortunate  choice  of  subjects.  Joanna,  who 
had  been  tranquilly  eating  her  supper,  suddenly  grew  red  and 
querulous. 

"Ah,  she  can  cook  well  enough  if  she  chooses,"  she  re- 
turned, "but  there!  she  so  seldom  chooses  to  take  pains. 
Thorold,  I  shall  have  to  part  with  that  girl  j  her  wastefulness 
and  extravagance  are  beyond  everything.  And  then  she  is 
so  self-willed,  too — she  will  not  mind  anything  I  tell  her. 
Again  and  again  I  have  begged  her  not  to  put  an  egg  in  the 
rice  pudding,  but  she  does  it  all  the  same." 

"I  suppose  she  thinks  the  egg  will  make  the  pudding 
nicer,"  returned  Thorold,  mildly;  and  then,  to  change  the 
subject,  he  said,  boldly,  "  I  have  rather  a  headache  this  even- 
ing, dear.  Do  you  think  Jemima  could  make  me  a  cup  of 
coffee?" 

"She  could  make  it,  but  I  doubt  if  you  would  care  to 
drink  it,"  she  returned,  fretfully.  "  And  she  wants  to  go  out, 
too.  She  has  got  a  young  man,  I  know  she  has;  I  taxed 
her  with  it  this  very  morning,  and  she  was  as  impertinent  as 
possible." 

"My  dear  Joa" — for  his  sense  of  fairness  was  roused  by 
this — "why  should  not  the  poor  girl  have  a  lover?  She  is 
very  good-looking,  and  as  long  as  she  conducts  herself  prop- 
erly I  can  see  no  objection  to  the  young  man." 

140 


Joanna  tangles  her  Skein 

"Yes,  and  she  will  be  having  him  in,  and  giving  him 
supper  when  we  are  out — not  that  I  ever  do  go  out,  Heaven 
knows !  I  declare  I  quite  envy  you,  Thorold,  going  out 
every  morning  to  your  work.  Women's  lives  are  far  more 
dull  and  monotonous  than  men's;"  here  Joanna's  voice 
waxed  more  plaintive  than  ever— it  was  naturally  rather  a 
sweet  voice,  but  fretfulness  and  discontent  had  deadened  the 
harmony.  If,  as  they  say,  the  closing  of  an  eyelid  will  shut 
out  the  lustre  of  a  planet,  so,  to  Joanna,  the  small  everyday 
worries  seemed  to  obliterate  the  larger  and  grander  interests 
of  life.  Jemima's  good  looks,  her  lover,  her  small  imperti- 
nences and  misdemeanours,  loomed  like  gigantic  shadows  on 
her  horizon.  "  If  she  could  only  learn  the  right  proportion 
of  things!"  Thorold  had  said  once  to  Althea,  almost  in 
despair. 

When  Joanna  made  her  dolorous  little  speech,  Thorold 
raised  his  eyes  from  his  plate  and  looked  at  her.  ' '  Why  do 
you  not  go  to  the  Red  House  oftener  ?' '  he  asked,  gravely. 
"  You  know  how  glad  they  would  be  to  have  you.  You  stay 
at  home  too  much,  Joa,  but  it  is  your  own  fault,  you  know. 
Doreen  and  Althea  are  always  sending  you  invitations." 

"  Yes,  I  know,  and  I  am  very  fond  of  Althea.  But  some- 
how I  never  care  to  go  to  the  Red  House ;  it  reminds  me  too 
much  of  the  dear  old  Manor  House.  That  room  of  Althea's 
makes  me  quite  shiver  when  I  enter  it." 

"Oh,  I  would  not  give  way  to  those  feelings,  Joa,"  he 
returned,  hastily.  "In  life  one  has  to  harden  one's  self  to 
all  sorts  of  things,  and  it  is  no  use  moping  and  brooding  over 
troubles  that  cannot  be  altered.  If  Jemima  wants  to  go  out, 
perhaps  we  had  better  not  wait  any  longer. ' '  And  then  he 
lighted  his  reading  lamp,  and  unfolded  his  paper.  In  spite 
of  the  well-cooked  chops,  supper  had  certainly  not  been  more 
festive  than  usual. 

And  then  a  strange  fancy  came  to  Thorold.  How  would 
it  be  with  him  if  some  younger,  brighter  face  were  to  be 
opposite  to  him,  evening  after  evening.  Would  not  his 
home,  humble  as  it  was,  be  a  very  different  place  ?  He  knew 
why  he  was  happier  in  his  chambers  at  Lincoln's  Inn.  To  his 
reserved  temperament,  solitude  was  far  preferable  than  un- 
congenial fellowship  with  this  small  human  soul,  this  weary 
little  pilgrim  forever  carrying  her  heavy  pack  of  worries. 

"  Poor  dear  Joa,"  he  said  to  himself,  for  his  keen  eyes  had 
noticed  the  reddened  eyelids.      "  Very  likely  she  remembers 

141 


Mollie's  Prince 

that  it  is  Tristram's  birthday,  and  that  he  is  thirty-eight 
to-day." 

Jemima  had  cleared  the  table  and  vanished.  He  was  still 
alone,  and  Rabat-la- Koum  was  curled  up  like  a  huge  grey 
ball  at  his  feet;  the  leading  article  was  unusually  clever,  and 
absorbed  him  until  a  sudden  fragrance  pervaded  the  room, 
and  there  stood  Joanna  at  his  elbow  with  a  steaming  cup  of 
coffee. 

"I  waited  until  Jemima  went  out,  and  then  I  made  it 
myself.  It  is  very  strong  coffee,  Thorold,  and  it  will  do  your 
head  good."  Joanna's  voice  was  a  little  more  cheerful  as 
she  said  this,  and  the  slight  flush  from  her  exertions  made  her 
look  younger. 

Thorold  was  quite  touched;  he  put  out  his  hand  and 
patted  his  sister's  arm  caressingly.  "  How  good  of  you  to 
take  so  much  trouble,  my  dear  !  I  never  thought  of  the  coffee 
again.  Sit  down,  Joa,  and  let  us  be  comfortable.  I  have 
been  wanting  to  tell  you  something  all  the  evening." 

"Have  you,  indeed?"  and  Joanna  brightened.  "Wait  a 
moment.  I  want  to  wind  some  wool.  I  can  hear  you  talk 
all  the  same.  And  yet  I  must  mention  one  thing  before  you 
begin.  The  gas  man  called  for  his  account,  and  you  forgot 
to  leave  the  cheque." 

"Did  I?  I  was  in  a  hurry.  But  I  will  write  it  before  I 
go  to  bed." 

"Thank  you.  And  there  is  one  other  thing,  Thorold. 
If  Jemima  goes  at  her  month,  as  she  threatens,  will  she  not 
forfeit  her  wages?  You  are  a  lawyer,  so  you  ought  to 
know." 

"I  am  quite  sure  Jemima  means  to  do  nothing  of  the 
kind,"  he  returned,  impatiently.  "Look  here,  Joa,  she  is 
the  best  servant  we  have  had  yet,  and  I  would  rather  raise 
her  wages  than  part  with  her.  Take  my  advice  for  once, 
praise  her  a  little  more  and  find  fault  with  her  a  little  less ; 
and  if  you  are  wise  you  will  leave  her  young  man  alone;" 
and  then  he  drank  his  coffee,  moodily.  Joanna  had  quenched 
his  attempt  at  conversation  again.  Joanna  pondered  Tho- 
rold's  advice  as  she  unravelled  her  skein  of  yarn ;  it  was 
somewhat  tangled,  and  as  she  pulled  it  with  nervous  jerks, 
the  yarn  snapped  and  the  ball  rolled  from  her  hand. 

Thorold  suppressed  a  forcible  interjection  as  he  groped 
under  his  chair  for  the  ball.  If  ever  he  married,  he  deter- 
mined that  one  of  the  first  rules  he  would  make  for  his  wife's 

142 


Joanna  tangles  her  Skein 

guidance  would  be  that  all  wool-winding  should  be  done  by 
daylight. 

Joanna  had  a  tiresome  habit  of  leaving  a  tangled  skein  for 
the  comparative  leisure  of  the  evening  hours.  Thorold  used  to 
wonder  sometimes  if  all  her  skeins  were  tangled.  It  got  on 
his  nerves  sometimes  and  spoilt  the  enjoyment  of  his  reading. 
Joanna's  limp,  nerveless  movements,  her  jerky  beginnings  and 
abrupt  endings,  her  brief  spasms  of  energy,  and  the  inevitable 
hunt  for  the  unlucky  ball,  irritated  him  at  times  beyond  en- 
durance. It  is  quite  ridiculous  and  almost  derogatory  to  one's 
dignity  to  think  how  much  daily  life  is  marred  by  these  small 
frets  and  torments.  The  buzzing  of  a  bluebottle  against  the 
window-pane  is  certainly  preferable  to  a  brass  band  when  the 
instruments  are  cracked,  but  the  whizzing  and  fizzing  of  the 
insect  may  in  time  jar  on  the  ear ;  and  to  thin-skinned  people 
a  midge's  bite  is  fruitful  of  irritation. 

Joanna  was  making  up  her  mind  slowly  that  her  brother  had 
given  her  good  counsel,  and  that  perhaps  it  would  be  well  for 
her  to  follow  it.  Thorold  was  the  master  of  the  house,  and 
if  he  wished  to  keep  Joanna,  of  course  the  girl  must  stay. 
And  when  Joanna  had  arrived  at  this  point,  she  broke  the 
thread  of  her  yarn  again.' 

"  I  thought  there  was  something  you  wanted  to  tell  me, 
Thorold,"  she  said,  rather  reproachfully,  when  she  had  found 
a  new  beginning.  "  I  have  brought  my  work  and  am  ready 
to  talk,  but  you  do  nothing  but  read. ' '  Then  Thorold  threw 
down  his  paper  impatiently. 

"  I  thought  you  were  too  busy  with  that  work,"  he  returned, 
rather  curtly ;  "  and,  after  all,  it  does  not  matter.  It  was  only 
about  my  own  business  affairs. ' ' 

"  Oh,  but  I  want  to  hear  it,"  replied  his  sister,  with  much 
mild  obstinacy.  "It  is  seldom  that  you  do  care  to  talk  to  me, 
Thorold;"  and  here  Joanna's  voice  was  decidedly  plaintive. 
"I  sometimes  think  that  if  it  were  not  for  finding  fault  with 
Jemima  I  should  almost  lose  the  use  of  my  voice." 

Thorold  was  fast  losing  patience.  Joanna  was  in  one  of  her 
most  trying  moods ;  she  was  at  once  aggressive  and  despondent. 
She  was  at  all  times  very  tenacious  of  her  sisterly  privileges, 
and  nothing  offended  her  more  than  being  kept  in  the  dark. 
Well,  he  might  as  well  get  it  over  and  be  done  with  it;  but  he 
would  be  as  brief  as  possible.  "I  only  wanted  to  tell  you 
that  I  have  had  a  very  satisfactory  interview  with  Murdoch  & 
Williams." 

143 


Mollie's  Prince 

"Oh,  indeed" — and  here  Joanna  frowned  anxiously  over 
her  skein.     "  They  are  solicitors,  are  they  not?" 

"Yes,  but  they  are  very  big  people.  Joa,  I  think  I  am 
likely  to  get  the  brief.  You  see" — warming  to  his  subject — 
"  our  last  case  was  so  satisfactory,  and  we  got  our  client  such 
heavy  damages,  that  Murdoch  &  Williams  were  quite  pleased. 
The  junior  partner  made  himself  very  pleasant,  and  said  all 
kinds  of  civil  things." 

"And  you  think  you  will  get  it,  Thorold?"  and  Joanna 
actually  laid  down  her  skein. 

"  I  shall  certainly  get  it;"  and  Thorold's  eyes  flashed  with 
triumph  as  he  spoke ;  at  such  moments  his  face  was  full  of 
expression.  "  It  will  be  a  big  case,  Joa,  and  Sergeant  Riving- 
ton  will  be  leading  counsel  on  our  side."  And  then  again  he 
told  himself  that  his  foot  was  on  the  rung  of  the  ladder,  and 
that  he  had  begun  to  climb  in  earnest. 

"I  am  very  glad,  Theo;"  and  Joanna's  blue  eyes  were 
rather  tearful.  She  and  Tristram  had  often  called  him  Theo, 
but  she  seldom  used  the  old  pet  name  now.  Thorold  smiled 
a  little  sadly  as  he  heard  it. 

"  I  knew  you  would  be  pleased,  dear;"  and  his  voice  soft- 
ened. "  It  will  make  a  great  difference  to  our  income.  Joa, 
I  have  made  up  my  mind  that  the  last  of  the  debts  shall  be 
paid  off  before  Christmas,  and  we  will  begin  the  New  Year 
free  and  untrammelled.  There  shall  be  an  end  of  all  your 
small  peddling  economies.  We  shall  not  be  rich,  but  at  least 
we  need  not  hoard  our  cheese-parings  and  candle-ends." 

"I  do  not  know  what  you  mean,  Thorold!"  returned 
Joanna,  in  a  puzzled  tone.  "We  never  use  candles  except 
in  the  coal  cellar." 

Then  Thorold  gave  a  grim,  unmirthful  laugh.  If  he  ever 
married,  the  lady  of  his  choice  should  have  some  sense  of 
humour;  nothing  is  more  harassing  and  trying  to  the  temper 
than  to  have  to  talk  down  to  the  level  of  one's  daily  com- 
panion. Althea  once  said,  rather  wittily,  that  Joa's  brains 
were  like  a  nutmeg-grater — one  had  to  rub  one's  nutmeg  very 
hard  before  the  spicy  fragments  would  filter  through  it. 

"  Perhaps  we  may  have  a  better <house  soon  !"  he  said,  after 
a  pause.  "  I  should  like  to  be  out  of  the  town  and  higher  up 
the  hill.     The  air  is  fresher,  and  it  would  be  quieter." 

"Oh,  yes,  much  quieter!"  Joanna  smiled,  and  a  pretty 
dimple  came  into  view ;  at  that  moment  she  looked  almost 
like  a  girl. 

144 


Joanna  tangles  her  Skein 

"We  must  wait  for  our  good  things  a  little,"  continued 
Thorold ;  ' '  but  there  is  no  need  for  us  to  stint  ourselves.  And 
Joa,"  here  he  hesitated — "why  should  you  not  smarten  your- 
self up  a  bit.  Get  one  or  two  new  dresses,  or  any  fal-lals  you 
require" — for  his  keen,  observant  eyes  had  noticed  that  the 
old  lilac  silk  that  Joanna  always  wore  of  an  evening,  a  relic 
of  the  old  Manor  House  days,  was  faded  and  darned,  and  of 
obsolete  fashion.  He  was  a  man  who  was  always  keenly  alive 
to  the  wants  and  wishes  of  his  womankind.  But  even  as  he 
made  the  suggestion,  he  wondered  why  Joanna  was  hoarding 
her  five  hundred  pounds,  and  why  she  should  not  use  a  few 
pounds  to  replenish  her  scanty  wardrobe.  He  knew,  and  had 
been  very  angry  when  he  heard  it,  that  Althea  had  actually 
presented  her  with  a  beautiful  dress,  for  church ;  because  she 
said  Joa  was  too  miserly  to  spend  a  penny  on  herself. 

Joanna  blushed  slightly  when  Thorold  made  his  good- 
natured  proposition.  "You  are  very  kind,  Theo,"  she  said, 
gently,  as  she  folded  her  white,  nervous-looking  hands  over 
her  skein,  "but  I  go  out  so  seldom,  that  I  do  not  require  many 
new  dresses.  I  have  Althea's  merino,  and" — eyeing  her  lilac 
silk  complacently — "  there  is  plenty  of  wear  to  be  got  out  of 
my  old  gown  yet ! ' ' 

"Well,  you  know  best,"  returned  Thorold,  indifferently. 
If  he  had  stated  his  opinion  candidly,  he  would  have  sug- 
gested that  the  gown  in  question  should  be  relegated  to 
Jemima  or  the  rag-bag.  Well,  he  had  done  his  part  nobly; 
and  now  he  might  take  up  Guizot's  Life.  But  the  next  mo- 
ment Joanna's  plaintive  tones  arrested  him. 

"Theo,  do  you  remember  what  day  this  is?"  And  as  he 
nodded,  she  continued,  mournfully,  "Trist  is  eight-and-thirty 
to-day ;  it  is  actually  ten  years  since  we  have  seen  him — ten 
long  years."  And  now  a  slow  tear  or  two  welled  down 
Joanna's  face.  "What  a  weary  time  it  has  been!  And  he 
and  Ella  have  never  written — not  a  line,  not  a  single  word, 
since  their  little  girl  was  born." 

"  He  was  going  to  Australia  then,  and  he  seemed  to  write 
in  good  spirits— we  have  his  letter  still,  Joa.  He  was  so 
pleased  with  his  little  daughter,  and  the  prospect  of  the  new 
berth  offered  him!" 

"Yes,  but  that  was  eight  or  nine  years  ago.  Oh,  Thorold, 
why  does  he  never  write  ?  Do  you  think  he  has  ceased  to  care 
for  us?" 

"  No,  my  dear,  certainly  not,"  replied  her  brother,  kindly; 
io  145 


Mollie's  Prince 

for  he  was  moved  by  her  deep  dejection.  "But  you  know- 
how  casual  and  happy-go-lucky  the  dear  old  chap  always  was. 
Bad  habits  grow  stronger  as  we  grow  older — remember  that, 
Joa.  Trist  never  liked  making  little  efforts.  He  hated  writing 
letters  even  in  his  school  days — probably  he  hates  it  still. 
And  yet,  for  all  that,  he  may  be  flourishing  on  some  sheep 
farm  or  other." 

But  this  view  of  the  case  did  not  comfort  Joanna,  and  during 
the  rest  of  the  evening  she  shed  silent  tears  over  her  tangled 
skein.  And  all  the  time,  not  half  a  mile  away,  a  man  and  a 
child  sat  hand  in  hand  over  a  smoky  little  cindery  fire  j  the 
child's  shivering  form  wrapped  in  an  old  Inverness  cape. 

"Is  it  always  cold  in  England,  father?  Why  does  not 
Mrs.  Grimson  make  up  a  big  fire?" 

"Well,  you  see  coals  are  dear,  Bet,  and  the  stove  is  a  small 
one;  but  my  old  coat  is  warm  and  thick.  Why,  you  look  as 
snug  as  a  robin  in  its  nest,  or  a  squirrel  in  its  hole,  or  a  dor- 
mouse, or  anything  else  you  like  to  name.  I  wonder  what 
Aunt  Joa  will  think  of  my  little  Betty  when  she  sees  her  ?' ' 
Then  the  child  laughed  gleefully. 

"  Shall  we  really  find  them,  father?" 

"Of  course  we  shall  find  them,  my  girlie;  but  we  must  not 
tire  those  poor  little  feet  too  much.  Put  them  up  on  my  knee, 
darling,  and  dad  will  rub  them  and  keep  the  chilblains  away." 
And  then,  as  he  took  the  tiny  feet  in  his  hand,  Bet's  thin  little 
arm  went  round  his  neck. 

"  Oh,  father,  I  do  love  you  so.  It  makes  me  ache  all  over 
to  love  you  so  hard ;"  and  then  Bet  rested  her  rough,  tangled 
head  against  her  father's  shoulder. 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

A   CHECK   FOR   THE    BLACK   PRINCE. 

"  Simplicity  of  all  things  is  the  hardest  to  be  copied." — Steele. 

"  How  absolute  the  knave  is !  We  must  speak  by  the  card,  or  equivo- 
cation will  undo  us." — Hamlet. 

Before  many  days  had  passed  Waveney  had  settled  down 
happily  at  the  Red  House;  and  though  she  still  missed  Mollie, 
and  had  to  combat  frequent  pangs  of  home-sickness,  her  en- 
vironment was  so  pleasant,  and  her  work  so  congenial,  that  it 

146 


A  Check  for  the  Black  Prince 

would  have  seemed  to  her  the  basest  ingratitude  not  to  be 
thankful  for  her  advantages. 

Sweet  temper,  and  high  principles,  are  important  factors  in 
a  girl's  happiness.  Waveney  knew  she  was  walking  in  the 
path  of  duty,  and  that  she  had  done  the  right  thing  in  severing 
herself  from  the  home  life.  A  sense  of  independence  and 
well-doing  sweetened  her  daily  duties,  and  at  night,  after  she 
had  prayed  for  her  dear  ones,  she  would  sleep  as  calmly  and 
peacefully  as  a  tired  child. 

"I  think  Waveney  is  happy  with  us,"  Althea  said,  once,  in 
a  satisfied  voice;  and,  indeed,  at  that  moment  the  girl's  clear 
notes  were  distinctly  audible,  singing  to  herself  in  the  corridor, 
as  she  had  been  accustomed  to  sing  in  the  old  house  in  Chel- 
sea. Waveney' s  duties  were  not  very  irksome.  When  Althea' s 
eyes  troubled  her,  her  young  companion  would  spend  the 
morning  and  the  greater  part  of  the  evening  reading  to  her  or 
writing  from  her  dictation ;  and  in  this  way  Waveney  gained 
a  great  deal  of  valuable  information. 

"  It  is  a  liberal  education  to  talk  to  my  dear  Miss  Althea," 
she  would  say  to  Mollie.  "She  is  so  clever,  and  knows  so 
much,  and  yet  she  thinks  so  little  of  herself.  I  believe  I  love 
and  admire  her  more  every  day." 

"But  you  like  Miss  Doreen,  too?"  observed  Mollie,  ten- 
tatively. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  am  quite  fond  of  her,  and  she  is  always  as  nice 
as  possible.  But  she  could  never  come  up  to  Queen  Bess ; 
she  is  more  earthly  and  commonplace.  But,  there,  I  am  not 
expressing  myself  properly.  Miss  Althea  is  human,  too,  but 
she  is  so  much  more  sympathetic  and  picturesque." 

"But  the  old  ladies  at  the  Home  like  Miss  Doreen  best," 
retorted  Mollie. 

"Yes,  dear,  old  ladies  are  her  specialities,  and  girls  are 
Miss  Althea' s.  You  would  think,  sometimes,  to  hear  her  talk, 
that  she  was  a  girl  herself,  and  knew  exactly  how  they  felt. 
Some  of  them  almost  worship  her,  and  no  wonder." 

1 '  I  wish  I  could  see  her, ' '  sighed  poor  Mollie.  ' '  I  love  her, 
too,  for  being  so  good  to  you" — for  her  unselfish  nature  knew 
no  taint  of  jealousy.  When  Althea's  eyes  were  in  good  order, 
Waveney  merely  wrote  a  few  letters,  or  copied  some  extracts 
neatly  and  then  her  duties  in  the  library  were  over. 

Sometimes  she  would  walk  across  to  the  Home  and  read  for 
an  hour  to  the  blind  lady,  Miss  Elliot,  or  she  would  do  little 
errands  in  the  town  for  one  or  other  of  the  sisters.     Sometimes 

147 


Mollie's  Prince 

she  would  carry  the  weekly  basket  of  flowers  that  Althea 
always  sent  to  Joanna.  But  she  never  thoroughly  enjoyed  her 
visits.  She  told  Mollie  that  Miss  Chaytor  was  a  rather  de- 
pre.sing  sort  of  person. 

"  I  daresay  she  is  good  and  amiable,"  she  observed  ;  "  she 
must  have  virtues,  or  Miss  Althea  would  not  be  so  fond  of 
her.  But  she  looks  as  though  she  has  been  out  too  long  in  a 
bleak  wind,  and  has  got  nipped  and  pinched.  I  think  if  she 
would  only  speak  more  briskly  and  cheerfully,  that  she  would 
feel  better ;  she  wants  prodding,  somehow,  like  the  old  coster- 
monger's  donkey;"  and  Mollie  laughed  at  this. 

Waveney  certainly  had  her  good  times.  Althea  had  pre- 
sented her  with  a  beautiful  racket  and  a  pair  of  tennis  shoes, 
and  on  Thursday  afternoons  she  and  Nora  Greenwell  played 
tennis  on  the  new  asphalt  court  behind  the  Porch  House. 
She  also  joined  Mr.  Chaytor' s  Shakespeare  readings ;  they 
were  to  get  up  The  Merchant  of  Venice  next,  and  to  her  secret 
delight  the  part  of  Jessica  was  allotted  her. 

Mr.  Chaytor  took  no  special  notice  of  her ;  she  sat  amongst 
the  other  girls,  and  listened  to  his  instructions.  Sometimes, 
when  Thorold  had  finished  some  masterly  declamation,  he 
would  look  up  suddenly  from  his  book.  Waveney's  little 
pale  face  and  curly  head  were  just  opposite  to  him ;  the  deep, 
spirituelle  eyes  seemed  glowing  with  golden  light.  Where 
was  she  ?  Not  in  the  Recreation  Hall,  but  on  some  marble 
steps  belonging  to  a  Doge's  palace.  The  dark  water  was 
washing  almost  to  her  feet ;  gondolas  were  passing  and  repass- 
ing in  the  moonlight ;  grey-bearded  men,  in  velvet  doublets 
and  ruffs,  were  standing  in  a  group,  under  the  deep  archway ; 
and  Portia,  in  her  satin  gown,  was  walking  with  proud  and 
stately  step,  followed  by  her  train. 

"It  is  your  turn,  Miss  Ward,"  observed  Thorold,  quietly. 
And  then,  as  Waveney  started  and  flushed,  he  bit  his  lip  with 
an  effort  to  suppress  a  smile.  He  knew,  by  a  sort  of  intuitive 
sympathy,  where  her  thoughts  had  strayed.  Her  absorbed 
attention  pleased  and  flattered  him  ;  he  began  to  feel  interested 
in  so  promising  a  pupil.  "  Miss  Greenwell  reads  better,"  he 
thought;  "but  I  doubt  if  she  grasps  the  full  meaning  and 
beauty  of  a  passage  as  Miss  Ward  does."  And  on  more  than 
one  evening  the  little  pale  face,  and  dark,  vivid  eyes  seemed 
to  haunt  him.  Strangely  enough  he  had  used  Doreen's  com- 
parison. "She  is  like  Undine,"  he  said  to  himself;  and 
somehow,  the  name  seemed  to  suit  her. 

148 


A  Check  for  the  Black  Prince 

Waveney's  Sundays  were  always  her  happiest  days  j  they 
were  red-letter  days  and  high  festivals  to  her,  as  well  as  to 
Mollie;  but  each  time  she  went  home  she  thought  Mollie 
looked  lovelier,  and  on  each  occasion  she  found  relics  of  the 
Black  Prince. 

The  grapes  had  long  ago  been  eaten,  but  a  generous  box  of 
Paris  chocolate  had  replaced  them,  and  there  were  always  fresh 
hot-house  flowers  in  the  red  bowl.  Mollie,  who  was  becom- 
ing hardened,  scarcely  blushed  as  she  pointed  them  out,  and 
informed  Waveney  quite  coolly  that  a  hare  or  a  brace  of  pheas- 
ants were  hanging  up  in  the  larder. 

"  Sir  Reynard  at  his  tricks  still,"  thought  Waveney.  And 
one  evening  she  did  give  her  father  a  hint.  "Dad,"  she  said, 
a  little  nervously,  for  she  felt  her  task  a  delicate  one,  "Mr. 
Ingram  is  very  kind  to  dear  Mollie — he  is  always  bringing  her 
things,  and  of  course  she  is  pleased;  but  I  do  not  think  he 
ought  to  come  so  often  when  she  is  alone." 

Everard  started  and  looked  at  her.  His  little  girl  had  plenty 
of  penetration  and  sense,  as  he  knew. 

"No,  dear;  I  suppose  you  are  right,"  he  said,  slowly.  "I 
will  talk  to  Miss  Mollie,  and  she  must  give  Mr.  Ingram  a  hint. 
The  little  Puss  has  encouraged  him,  I  suppose."  And  then 
he  frowned,  and  said,  a  little  anxiously,  "You  don't  think  the 
fellow  is  making  up  to  her,  eh,  Waveney?" 

' '  Father,  dear,  how  can  we  tell  ?  Mollie  is  such  a  great 
baby  in  these  sort  of  things ;  I  think  she  fancies  that  she  is 
not  grown  up  yet,  but  she  is  nineteen.  Dad,  I  think  he  must 
like  her  a  little ;  but  he  ought  only  to  come  to  the  house 
when  you  are  at  home.  Won't  you  try  and  find  out  all  about 
him?" 

But  Mr.  Ward  shook  his  head ;  he  hardly  knew  how  that 
was  to  be  done. 

"He  is  a  gentleman,"  he  returned,  rather  gravely,  "and  he 
is  a  good  fellow — I  am  sure  of  that ;  and  he  has  plenty  of 
means.  I  like  Mr.  Ingram ;  he  is  a  little  eccentric,  but  he  is 
honourable  and  straightforward.  I  would  take  my  oath  of  that. 
Well,  well,  I  will  give  Mollie  a  good  strong  hint."  And  Mr. 
Ward  kept  his  word. 

So  a  day  or  two  later,  when  Mr.  Ingram  walked  into  the 
studio  with  some  fresh  flowers  and  a  beautifully  bound  volume 
of  Jean  Ingelow's  poems  under  his  arm,  that  Mollie  had 
innocently  remarked  that  she  longed  to  read,  Mollie  seemed 
hardly  as  pleased  as  usual  to  see  him;    she  even  turned  a 

149 


Mollie's  Prince 

little  pale  when  he  presented  the  book  with  one  of  his  joking 
speeches. 

"Oh,  thank  you;  you  are  very  kind,"  she  stammered, 
fluttering  the  pages.  "And  you  have  written  my  name  in, 
too!"  Mollie  spoke  hurriedly  and  breathlessly;  she  had  not 
even  asked  him  to  sit  down. 

Mr.  Ward's  hint  had  certainly  been  a  strong  one. 

Mr.  Ingram  looked  at  the  girl  a  little  keenly ;  then  he  took 
a  chair  and  seated  himself  comfortably. 

"What  is  it,  Miss  Mollie?"  he  said,  gently.  "You  have 
something  on  your  mind.  Oh,  you  cannot  deceive  me,"  as 
Mollie  blushed  and  shook  her  head.  "lean  read  you  like 
a  book,  and  for  some  reason  poor  Monsieur  Blackie  is  in 
disgrace." 

"Oh,  no,  no!"  protested  Mollie,  quite  shocked  at  this. 
"You  could  not  think  me  so  ungrateful!" 

"  There  can  be  no  question  of  gratitude  between  you  and 
me,"  returned  the  young  man,  gravely ;  and  he  looked  a  little 
pained.  Then,  as  Mollie's  sweet,  wistful  face  seemed  to  plead 
forgiveness,  he  recovered  himself  with  an  effort. 

"I  am  only  troubled  because  I  am  afraid  of  hurting 
you,"  she  went  on  ;  "and  I  am  sorry,  too,  because  I  do  so 
enjoy  your  visits.    We  know  so  few  people,  Mr.  Ingram ;  but 

father  said "     But  here  Mollie  utterly  broke  down.    And 

why  ever  was  Mr.  Ingram  looking  at  her  in  that  way  ?     Was 
he  angry  or  unhappy  ? 

"  You  do  not  surely  mean,  Miss  Mollie,  that  your  father  has 
forbidden  my  visits?"  And  now  it  was  Mr.  Ingram's  turn  to 
look  pale. 

"Oh,  no,  no!"  gasped  Mollie,  "how  could  you  think  of 
anything  so  dreadful?     Only  father  would  like  to  see  you 

sometimes  and "     Then  the  stern  look  of  gravity  was  no 

longer  on  Ingram's  face. 

"My  dear  Miss  Mollie,"  he  said,  kindly,  "please  do  not 
distress  yourself  so.  Let  me  finish  that  sentence  for  you. 
Your  father  does  not  in  the  least  object  to  my  visits,  but  he 
would  like  me  to  pay  them  when  he  is  at  home,  and  he  wishes 
you  to  tell  me  this." 

"Oh,  yes.  Thank  you;  but  how  could  you  guess  so 
cleverly?"  and  Mollie  looked  as  though  a  world  of  care 
had  rolled  off  her.  But  only  an  inscrutable  smile  answered 
her. 

"  Sir  Oracle  has  spoken,"  he  said,  trying  to  resume  his  old 

150 


A  Check  for  the  Black  Prince 

manner.  "Now,  Miss  Mollie,  I  may  be  an  Idealist,  but  I 
can  be  practical,  too.  Will  you  kindly  tell  me  on  which  after- 
noon I  am  likely  to  find  your  father." 

"  Only  on  Saturdays  for  certain." 

"  Very  well,  then,  will  you  tell  Mr.  Ward,  with  my  compli- 
ments, that  unless  his  house  be  on  fire  nothing  will  induce  me 
to  ring  his  door-bell  on  Monday,  Tuesday,  Wednesday,  Thurs- 
day, or  Friday,  unless  by  special  invitation.  But  on  Saturday 
I  will  do  myself  the  pleasure  of  calling." 

"Is  that  a  message  to  father?"  asked  Mollie,  a  little  puzzled 
at  his  tone.  But  Mr.  Ingram  only  laughed  and  rose  from  his 
chair. 

"I  am  rather  a  riddle  to  you,  am  I  not?"  he  said,  taking 
her  soft  little  hand.  And  then  his  manner  suddenly  changed. 
"Miss  Mollie,"  he  continued,  "do  you  remember  the  first 
time  I  saw  you  ?  You  were  sitting  in  the  ashes,  like  Cinde- 
rella.    I  have  called  you  Cinderella  ever  since." 

"  Oh,  not  really,  Mr.  Ingram !  But,  of  course,  I  remember 
the  day,  for  I  was  never  so  startled  in  my  life.  When  the 
door  opened  I  thought  it  was  Ann,  and,  oh  dear,  how 
frightened  I  was  for  a  moment !" 

"It  was  like  a  picture,"  went  on  Ingram,  and  his  eyes 
looked  grave  and  intent.  "The  kitchen  was  a  little  dark, 
but  a  ray  of  sunshine  was  full  on  your  face,  and  you  were 
singing.  Do  you  remember,  Miss  Mollie?"  And  Mollie 
hung  her  head,  as  though  she  were  rather  ashamed  of 
herself. 

"Oh,  yes,  that  old  song  of  father's."  And  then,  rather 
pettishly,  "But  I  don't  want  to  remember  that." 

"I  shall  never  forget  it.  I  wish  I  were  the  Fairy  God- 
mother instead  of  Monsieur  Blackie.  And  then  there  is  the 
Prince.     What  are  we  to  do  about  the  Prince,  Miss  Mollie  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  murmured  Mollie,  confusedly;  for 
Mr.  Ingram's  manner  was  rather  baffling  that  afternoon.  But 
how  amused  he  would  be  if  he  knew  that  Waveney  often  called 
him  the  Black  Prince.  "  There  never  are  princes  in  real 
life,"  she  finished,  demurely. 

"Oh,  I  would  not  be  too  sure  of  that,"  he  returned,  coolly. 
"  Life  is  full  of  surprises.  Why,  I  heard  of  a  fellow  last  year 
—he  was  only  a  dairy-man,  and  a  rich  uncle  who  had  made 
his  pile  in  Chicago,  and  was  a  millionaire,  died,  and  left  him 
all  his  money.  He  told  me  in  confidence  that  for  the  first 
month  he  was  nearly  out  of  his  mind  with  worry,  for  he  and 

151 


Mollie's  Prince 

his  wife  had  not  a  notion  what  to  do  with  it.  I  gave  him  a 
lot  of  advice.  I  told  him  to  give  his  children  the  best  edu- 
cation possible,  and  to  live  comfortably  without  trying  for 
grandeur;  and  he  was  a  sensible  fellow,  and  followed  my 
advice.  He  has  a  good  house,  and  a  model  farm,  and  his 
breed  of  Alderney  cows  is  the  finest  in  the  country ;  and  I 
have  a  great  respect  for  him  and  his  wife,  and  often  go  and 
see  them." 

Mollie  was  much  impressed  with  this  story ;  she  was  sorry 
when  Mr.  Ingram  took  his  leave.  He  had  paid  such  a  very 
short  visit,  and  she  knew  her  father's  message  was  the  cause. 
But  he  had  quite  recovered  his  spirits,  for,  as  he  went  down- 
stairs, she  could  hear  him  singing  to  himself  in  a  low,  melodi- 
ous voice : 

"  •  Here's  to  the  maiden  of  bashful  fifteen, 
Here's  to  the  widow  of  fifty, 
Here's  to  the  flaunting,  extravagant  quean, 
And  here's  to  the  housewife  that's  thrifty. 

Let  the  toast  pass, 

Drink  to  the  lass, 
I'll  warrant  she'll  prove  an  excuse  for  the  glass.'  " 

Waveney  was  far  happier  in  her  mind  when  she  heard  from 
Mollie  that  Mr.  Ingram's  visits  were  always  to  be  paid  on 
Saturday  afternoons ;  and  even  Mollie  owned  that  she  pre- 
ferred this. 

"  You  see,  Wave,"  she  explained,  "it  is  a  little  awkward 
entertaining  Mr.  Ingram  all  by  myself.  If  I  were  like  you  I 
should  not  mind  it  so  much ;  but  I  never  can  talk  properly, 
and  he  is  so  dreadfully  clever." 

"Well,  he  has  travelled  and  seen  the  world ;  but  he  is  not 
clever  like  Mr.  Chaytor,  Mollie.  That  man  is  a  perfect  well 
of  knowledge."  But  this  comparison  did  not  seem  to  please 
Mollie. 

"I  think  Mr.  Ingram  clever,"  she  persisted,  "and  so  does 
father.  He  said  last  evening  that  he  was  a  thoroughly  well- 
informed  man.  Oh,  Wave,  I  forgot  to  tell  you  something. 
I  asked  him  yesterday  how  long  he  meant  to  stay  in  Chelsea, 
and  he  looked  quite  surprised  at  the  question.  He  said  he 
had  not  been  staying  there  for  weeks,  and  that  he  was  at  his 
diggings  as  usual,  but  that  he  generally  spent  a  night  or  two 
in  town  every  week.  '  When  I  am  up  in  town,  I  always  sleep 
at  my  club,'  he  said.     Now,  Waveney,  is  it  not  odd  that  he 

152 


A  Check  for  the  Black  Prince 

has  never  told  us  where  he  lives  ?  And  I  did  not  like  to  ask 
him."     And  Waveney  assented  to  this. 

The  following  Sunday,  when  Waveney  went  home,  she 
found  Mollie  in  a  state  of  great  excitement. 

It  was  a  cold,  November  afternoon,  and  a  dull  moisture 
seemed  to  pervade  everything.  The  pavements  were  wet  and 
greasy,  the  horses'  coats  steamed,  and  the  raw  dampness  was 
singularly  penetrating.  As  the  two  girls  hurried  along,  arm- 
in-arm,  Mollie  poured  out  her  story  breathlessly. 

< 'Oh,  Wave,  you  will  never  guess;  such  a  wonderful 
thing  is  going  to  happen  !  Mr.  Ingram  has  got  a  box  at  St. 
James's  Theatre  for  Wednesday  for  Ay  Inzer's  Dream,  and  he 
has  actually  invited  father,  and  Noel,  and  me;  and  father 
says  we  may  go." 

" Aylmer' s  Dream"  returned  Waveney.  "I  heard  Mr. 
Chaytor  talking  about  that  to  Miss  Althea.  He  told  her 
that  she  and  Miss  Doreen  ought  certainly  to  see  it — that  Miss 
Leslie's  representation  of  the  crazed  Lady  Aylmer  was  the 
most  perfect  piece  of  acting ;  and  Mr.  Sargent  as  Sir  Reginald 
Aylmer  was  almost  as  fine." 

"Yes,  I  daresay,"  interrupted  Mollie,  impatientiy;  for 
she  had  no  wish  to  discuss  the  merits  of  the  play  before- 
hand. "But  do  listen  to  me,  Wave,  dear;  Mr.  Ingram  will 
fetch  us  in  a  carriage,  and  he  has  promised  to  go  early,  so 
that  I  may  see  the  curtain  draw  up.  I  shall  wear  my  white 
dress.  But  what  am  I  to  do  for  a  nice  wrap?"  Mollie' s 
voice  was  a  little  troubled,  and  for  the  moment  Waveney 
did  not  answer.  She  realised  at  once  the  difficulty  of  the 
situation. 

"I  shall  not  draw  my  salary  until  Christmas,"  she  said, 
presently.  "That  will  be  a  month  hence;  and  we  must  not 
ask  father  for  any  money." 

"  No,  certainly  not." 

"Well,  then,  we  must  just  make  the  best  of  it,"  went  on 
Waveney.  "Your  black  jacket  is  impossible,  and  so  is  your 
waterproof.  So  there  only  remains  '  Tid's  old  red  rag  of  a 
shawl'  " — a  title  they  had  borrowed  from  a  charming  tale 
they  had  read  in  their  childhood. 

"  Oh,  Waveney,  dear,  mother's  old  red  shawl !"  and  Mol- 
lie's  voice  was  decidedly  depressed.  "  What  will  Mr.  Ingram 
say?" 

"  He  will  say — at  least,  he  will  think — that  you  look  sweet. 
How  could  he  help  it,  darling?    Mother's  shawl  is  warm,  and 

i53 


Mollie's  Prince 

in  the  gaslight  it  won't  look  so  very  shabby — you  can  throw 
it  off,  directly  you  get  into  the  box.  Father  must  buy  you 
some  new  gloves;  and,  with  a  few  flowers,  you  will  do  as  well 
as  possible."  But  though  Mollie  tried  to  take  this  cheerful 
view  of  the  case,  she  did  not  quite  succeed,  and  "Tid's  old 
rag  of  a  shawl"  lay  heavily  upon  her  mind. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

"DAD'S   LITTLE   BETTY. 

"We  have  seen  better  days." 

Romeo  and  Juliet. 

"  Her  little  face,  like  a  walnut  shell, 
With  wrinkling  lines." 

Henley. 

On  Monday  morning,  when  Waveney  went  into  the  library, 
Althea  would  always  ask  a  kindly  question  or  two  about  the 
previous  evening,  to  which  Waveney  would  gladly  respond. 
But  when  the  girl  told  her,  with  sparkling  eyes,  about  Mollie's 
promised  treat,  and  Mr.  Ingram's  kindness,  she  looked  ex- 
tremely surprised,  and  not  a  little  amused. 

Doreen,  who  had  followed  them  into  the  room,  and  was 
hunting  through  the  book-shelves  for  a  volume  she  needed, 
turned  with  an  exclamation.  But  Althea  put  her  finger  on  her 
lip,  with  a  warning  gesture. 

li  Ay  Inter1  s  Dream!  Why,  that  is  the  very  play  that 
Thorold  is  so  anxious  for  us  to  see,"  she  observed,  calmly. 
"  Why  should  we  not  have  a  box,  too?  You  are  driving  into 
town  this  afternoon,  Dorrie,  and  you  can  easily  go  to  St. 
James's.  It  will  be  a  treat  for  Waveney — and  you  know  we 
always  intended  to  go." 

"Yes,  but  not  on  Wednesday,"  returned  Doreen,  in  a 
doubtful  tone.  But  again  Althea  looked  at  her  meaningly. 
As  for  Waveney,  she  was  speechless  with  delight. 

Althea  sent  her  into  the  dining-room  the  next  moment  to 
fetch  the  Times  and  Doreen  took  instant  advantage  of  her 
absence. 

154 


"Dad's  Little  Betty" 

"  Althea,  are  you  serious?  Do  you  really  wish  me  to  take 
a  box  for  Wednesday?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  returned  Althea,  flushing  a  little;  but  there 
was  a  mischievous  smile  on  her  lips,  "I  am  quite  serious. 
Moritz  is  masquerading,  and  I  want  to  find  out  his  little  game. 
My  lord  is  too  busy  to  call  on  his  old  friends.  But  I  will  be 
even  with  him.  Hush !  here  the  child  comes,  Dorrie.  We 
will  have  a  nice  little  drama  of  our  own  on  Wednesday.  I 
long  to  see  pretty  Mollie,  and  that  'lad  of  pairts,'  Noel,  and 
it  will  be  a  grand  opportunity."  Then,  as  Waveney  returned 
with  the  paper,  Doreen  contented  herself  with  a  disapproving 
shake  of  the  head.  Althea  was  very  impulsive,  she  thought, 
when  she  at  last  left  the  room.  It  was  all  very  well  to  talk 
about  Moritz,  but  she  feared  that  she  was  putting  herself  in  an 
awkward  situation.  Everard  Ward  would  be  there  as  well 
as  Mollie  and  Noel,  and  they  could  hardly  leave  the  theatre 
without  speaking  to  him.  But,  old  maid  as  she  was,  the  idea 
of  hinting  this  to  Althea  made  her  feel  hot  all  over.  "Althea 
would  only  laugh  at  me,  and  pretend  not  to  understand,"  she 
said  to  herself;  "and  if  she  makes  a  plan,  nothing  will  induce 
her  to  give  it  up." 

In  truth  Althea  was  quite  enamoured  of  her  little  scheme. 
"  Now,  Waveney,"  she  said,  in  a  mysterious  voice,  "  you  are 
not  to  say  one  syllable  to  Mollie,  mind  that!" 

"  Is  it  to  be  a  surprise?"  asked  Waveney,  opening  her  eyes 
as  widely  as  the  wolf  in  Red  Riding  Hood. 

"Why,  of  course  it  is.  We  will  all  remain  snugly  hidden 
at  the  back  of  our  box  until  the  curtain  draws  up,  and  then 
they  will  be  too  absorbed  to  notice  us.  Think  how  delightful 
it  will  be  to  see  Mollie' s  start  of  astonishment,  when  at  last  she 
catches  sight  of  you ! ' ' 

"Oh,  what  fun  it  will  be!"  exclaimed  the  girl,  joyfully. 
"  Yes,  yes,  it  will  be  far  better  not  to  tell  Mollie;  but  I  hope 
she  will  not  call  out  when  she  sees  me.  Monsieur  Blackie,  too, 
and  father  and  Noel.  Oh,  Miss  Althea,  how  glorious  it  will  be ! 
There ;  I  am  forgetting  your  letters,  and  you  wanted  them 
written  for  the  early  post;"  but  Althea  only  smiled  indul- 
gently. 

Waveney  could  settle  to  nothing  properly  that  day;  she  had 
only  been  to  the  theatre  twice  in  her  life,  and  then  only  in 
the  gallery.  But  to  be  in  a  box  ! — well,  her  excitement  was 
so  great  that  she  took  a  long  walk  over  the  Common  to  calm 
herself. 

155 


Mollie's  Prince 

Presently  an  unwelcome  thought  obtruded  itself.  Her  white 
frock  was  losing  its  freshness  with  constant  wear,  but  there  was 
no  possibility  of  buying  a  new  one  until  Christmas,  and  she 
had  no  suitable  wrap — not  even  "Tid's  old  red  rag  of  a 
shawl."  For  a  moment  she  was  full  of  dismay,  then,  with  her 
usual  good  sense,  she  determined  to  confide  the  difficulty  to 
Miss  Althea.  She  found  her  opportunity  that  very  evening. 
Althea  listened  to  her  attentively.  ' '  My  dear  child, ' '  she  said, 
very  kindly,  when  Waveney  had  finished,  "do  you  know  the 
same  thought  occurred  to  me ;  but  there  is  no  need  to  trouble 
yourself.  I  have  two  or  three  evening  cloaks  that  Peachy  will 
not  let  me  wear  because  she  says  they  do  not  suit  me,  and  of 
course  you  can  have  one.  Oh,  yes,  there  is  a  blue  plush  one 
that  will  just  do."     And  Waveney  thanked  her  delightedly. 

There  was  nothing  now  to  mar  her  enjoyment  or  to  damp 
her  anticipation.  And  the  next  morning  a  letter  from  Mollie 
gave  her  fresh  pleasure. 

"Oh,  Wave,  darling,"  it  began,  "it  is  so  late,  and  father 
says  I  ought  to  be  in  bed ;  but  I  must  write  and  tell  you  about 
such  a  wonderful  thing  that  has  just  happened.  I  was  mixing 
father's  salad  for  supper  and  thinking  how  he  would  enjoy  it 
with  the  cold  pheasant  when  the  door-bell  rang,  and  the  next 
minute  Ann  brought  in  a  big  box — one  of  those  cardboard 
boxes  that  always  look  so  tempting.  It  was  from  Marshall  & 
Snelgrove,  she  said,  and  there  was  nothing  to  pay;  and  there 
was  my  name,  '  Miss  Mollie  Ward,'  written  as  plainly  as  pos- 
sible. Oh,  dear,  how  excited  I  was  ?  But  father  would  not  let 
me  cut  the  string,  and  he  was  such  a  time  fumbling  over  the 
knots ;  and  all  the  while  he  was  laughing  at  me  and  calling 
me  an  excitable  little  goose. 

"  There  were  layers  and  layers  of  tissue  paper,  and  then — 
oh,  Wave,  dear !  never,  never  in  all  our  lives  have  we  seen 
such  a  cloak  !  I  was  almost  afraid  even  to  touch  it.  Father 
was  right  when  he  said  rather  gravely  that  it  was  more  fit  for 
one  of  the  young  Princesses  of  Wales  than  for  his  daughter. 

"  But  I  must  try  to  describe  it.  It  is  a  rich  ivory  silk,  with 
a  lovely  pattern  running  through  it  that  looks  like  silver,  and 
it  is  so  warm  and  soft,  and  lined  with  the  faintest  and  most 
delicate  pink,  like  the  palm  of  a  baby's  hand — that  was 
father's  idea ;  and  all  round  is  the  most  exquisite  feather 
trimming.  And  when  I  put  it  on,  father  said  I  looked  like  a 
white  pigeon  in  its  nest. 

"Oh,  Wave,  do  you  think  that  our  good  little  Monsieur 

156 


"Dad's  Little  Betty" 

Blackie  sent  it  ?  There  was  no  name,  no  clue  of  any  kind. 
What  am  I  to  do  ?  Ought  I  to  thank  him  for  it  ?  But  there 
is  no  one  else  who  wouid  do  such  a  kind  thing;  and  yet  if 
he  did  not  send  it,  how  awkward  that  would  be  !  You  must 
think  over  it  and  help  me,  darling. 

"  Your  loving  but  distracted 

"Mollie." 

Waveney  did  not  long  delay  her  answer. 

uIam  delighted  about  the  cloak,  sweetheart,"  she  wrote, 
"and  he  is  the  very  Prince  of  Black  Princes,  to  make  my 
sweet  Moll  so  happy;  and  now  mother's  old  red  shawl  can  go 
back  into  the  cedar  box. 

"  Why,  of  course  it  is  Monsieur  Blackie.  Do  you  suppose 
any  other  person  would  do  such  a  delightfully  unconventional 
thing.  It  is  like  a  fairy  story;  it  is  Cinderella  in  real  life,  the 
pumpkin  coach  and  all.  But  Mollie,  take  my  word  for  it,  he 
will  never  own  it. 

"  Perhaps  if  you  get  an  opportunity  you  might  tell  him 
that  you  had  been  much  mystified  by  receiving  a  beautiful 
present  anonymously,  and  that  you  greatly  desired  to  thank 
the  kind  donor,  and  then  you  will  see  what  he  says.  Oh,  he 
is  a  deep  one,  Sir  Reynard,  and  I  should  not  be  surprised  if 
he  professes  entire  ignorance  on  the  subject.  If  I  could  only 
peep  at  you  on  Wednesday !  'Oh,  had  I  but  Aladdin's  lamp, 
if  only  for  a  day  !'  I  have  been  singing  that  ever  since  I  read 
your  letter."  And  then  Waveney  closed  her  note  abruptly, 
for  fear  she  should  say  too  much ;  but  some  subtle  feeling  of 
delicacy  prevented  her  from  telling  Althea.  That  the  cloak 
was  Mr.  Ingram's  gift  she  never  doubted  for  a  moment;  but 
though  she  had  written  jokingly  to  Mollie,  and  called  him 
the  very  Prince  of  Black  Princes,  in  reality  she  was  secretly 
dismayed. 

"If  he  loves  her,  why  does  he  not  tell  her  so?"  thought  the 
girl,  anxiously,  "instead  of  showering  gifts  on  her  in  this 
Oriental  fashion.  Is  it  because  Mollie  is  so  unconscious  and 
that  she  will  not  see,  and  this  is  his  way  of  winning  her?  Mr. 
Ingram  does  nothing  like  other  men;  he  is  an  Idealist,  as  he 
says.  He  is  good  and  kind,  but  he  is  not  good  enough  for 
my  Mollie.  She  is  worth  a  king's  ransom;  she  is  the  dearest, 
and  the  loveliest,  and  the  best;"  and  here  Waveney  broke 
down  and  shed  a  few  tears,  for  her  heart  felt  full  to  overflow- 
ing with  mingled  pride  and  pain. 

IS7 


Mollie's  Prince 

Waveney  had  some  errands  to  do  in  the  town  that  after- 
noon, and  amongst  other  things  she  had  to  take  the  usual 
basket  of  flowers  to  Miss  Chaytor. 

Waveney  never  cared  for  these  visits.  She  liked  Mr. 
Chaytor — he  interested  her  more  than  any  man  she  had  ever 
seen ;  but  his  sister  bored  her.  She  told  Mollie  once  that 
"  she  was  as  soft  and  damping  as  a  November  mist." 

She  found  her  this  afternoon  in  one  of  her  most  depressing 
moods.  She  had  been  having  an  argument  with  Jemima,  and, 
as  usual,  had  retired  baffled  from  the  contest.  Jemima  was  a 
clever  girl,  and  had  long  ago  taken  her  mistress's  measure; 
and  she  had  an  invariable  resource  on  these  occasions. 

"  If  I  don't  suit  you,  ma'am,  I  can  leave  this  day  month," 
she  would  say,  crushingly ;  and  then  Joanna  would  hurriedly 
reply,  "  Please  don't  talk  nonsense,  Jemima.  You  suit  me 
very  well.  But  all  the  same  you  had  no  right  to  stand  talking 
to  the  milkman  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  Well,  ten  minutes, 
then,"  as  Jemima,  with  some  heat,  protested  against  this; 
"and  I  will  thank  you  to  be  more  careful  for  the  future." 

Waveney  heard  the  whol  e  history  of  Jemima' s  misdemeanours. 
Joanna  had  taken  a  fancy  to  the  girl,  and  often  mentioned  her 
to  her  brother.  "  She  has  such  a  pretty  manner,  and  she  is 
bright  and  sympathetic.  She  is  just  the  person  for  Althea;" 
and  Thorold  had  assented  to  this. 

Joanna  wanted  her  to  stay  to  tea ;  but  Waveney  had  had  an 
excuse  ready — she  was  only  too  glad  to  get  out  of  the  house. 
Her  own  vitality  was  so  strong,  and  the  interest  of  her  own 
personality  so  absorbing,  that  she  could  not  understand  how 
any  human  existence  could  be  so  meagre  and  colourless  as 
Miss  Chaytor's  seemed  to  be.  "Is  it  because  she  is  an  old 
maid?"  thought  the  girl,  as  she  walked  over  the  bridge.  "  If 
Mollie  or  I  did  not  marry,  should  we  ever  be  like  that?"  and 
then  she  added,  piously,  "  Heaven  forbid  !" 

What  was  it  Miss  Althea  had  said  that  first  Sunday  morning, 
as  they  walked  through  the  village  ? — that  it  always  made  her 
angry  when  people  talked  of  empty,  blighted,  or  disappointed 
lives,  and  that  it  was  their  own  fault  if  they  did  not  find  in- 
terests. "  I  wondered  at  the  time  what  Miss  Althea  could 
mean,"  she  said  to  herself;  "  it  sounded  a  little  hard.  But  I 
have  thought  it  out  since.  We  must  fertilise  and  enrich  our 
lives  properly,  and  not  let  them  lie  fallow  too  long;  there  is 
no  need  that  any  life  should  be  thin  and  weedy.  I  suppose 
Miss  Chaytor  has  had  her  troubles,  but  she  is  not  without  her 

i53 


"Dad's  Little  Betty" 

blessings,  too.     I  daresay  her  brother  is  very  good  to  her. 
Oh,  yes,  certainly,  Miss  Chaytor  has  her  compensations." 

Waveney  had  finished  all  her  errands,  but  she  meant  to  take 
a  turn  on  the  Embankment.  The  grey,  November  afternoon 
had  a  certain  charm  for  her.  It  was  not  at  all  cold,  and  she 
wanted  to  sit  down  for  a  few  minutes  and  watch  the  barges 
being  tugged  slowly  against  the  tide.  How  mysterious  they 
looked,  emerging  from  the  dark  arches  of  the  bridge  !  Al- 
ready they  were  lighting  the  gas,  and  bright  flickers  were  per- 
ceptible across  the  river.  A  faint  wind  was  flapping  the  brown 
and  tawny  sails  of  some  vessels  that  were  waiting  to  be  un- 
laden; they  reminded  her  of  the  tattered  pennons  in  the 
chapel  at  Chelsea  Hospital.  And  then  she  thought  sadly  of 
the  dear  old  sergeant. 

He  had  died  peacefully  in  his  sleep  about  a  week  after  her 
visit,  and  his  last  conscious  words  had  been  about  Sheila. 

Mollie  had  seen  the  corporal  two  or  three  times,  and  one 
Sunday  she  and  Waveney  had  gone  over  to  the  Hospital.  The 
little  corporal  had  looked  aged  and  dwindled ;  but  at  the 
sight  of  Waveney  he  had  brightened. 

"Aye,  he  is  gone,"  he  said,  in  a  subdued  voice.  "  Mc- 
Gill  is  gone,  and  I  am  fairly  lost  without  him.  Ah  !  he  was 
a  grand  man  for  argufying,  and  would  stick  to  his  guns  finely. 
'  For  it  stands  to  reason, '  says  I,  '  that  a  man  with  two  eyes 
can  see  farther  than  a  blind  one' — not  that  McGill  was  blind 
then? — 'and  I'll  take  my  oath  that  there  were  only  two  of 
those  darned  black  niggers'  ;  and  then,  how  he  would  speechify 
and  bluster,  and  there  would  be  a  ring  round  us  in  no  time — 
and  '  Go  it,  McGill !'  and  '  Up  at  him,  corporal !'  Ah,  those 
were  grand  times.  But  the  Lord  gave  and  the  Lord  hath 
taken  away' ' — and  here  Corporal  Marks  bared  his  grey  head. 
"And  must  you  be  going,  Miss  Ward?  Well,  good-bye,  and 
God  bless  you!"  And  now  the  slow  tears  of  age  were 
coursing  down  the  corporal's  wrinkled  face. 

"Aye,  Jonadab  frets  sorely  after  his  old  comrade,"  re- 
marked Nurse  Marks,  when  Waveney  told  her  about  her  inter- 
view with  the  corporal.  "  What  is  it  we  are  told,  my  lamb? 
— '  One  taken  and  the  other  left'  ;  and  it  stands  to  reason  that 
the  world  is  a  poorer  place  for  him." 

Waveney  was  thinking  about  her  old  friends  as  she  seated 
herself  on  a  bench  overlooking  the  river.  At  the  farther 
corner  a  little  girl  was  sitting.  But  there  was  no  one  else  in 
sight. 

i59 


Mollie's  Prince 

Waveney  was  fond  of  children,  so  she  smiled  and  nodded 
to  the  child  in  quite  a  friendly  way. 

"  You  must  not  sit  long,  or  you  will  take  cold,  my  dear  !" 
she  said. 

"  Oh,  I  am  always  cold,"  returned  the  child,  in  a  plaintive 
little  voice,  "and  I  am  tired,  too,  for  I  have  got  two  bones 
in  my  legs,  and  they  do  ache  so  !" 

Waveney  looked  at  her  curiously;  she  was  not  a  pretty 
child — indeed,  it  was  rather  a  singular  little  face,  with  oddly 
pronounced  features.  She  had  pathetic- looking  eyes,  and  fair 
hair,  which  she  wore  in  a  long  plait,  and  in  spite  of  her  shabby 
dress  and  worn  boots  her  voice  was  refined  and  sweet.  When 
she  made  her  little  speech,  she  sidled  up  to  Waveney  in  the 
most  confiding  way. 

"  Do  you  have  bones  in  your  legs,  too — but  you  are  one  of 
the  grown-ups;  grown-ups  don't  mind  being  tired.  Daddie 
says  when  my  legs  grow  longer  they  will  leave  off  aching, 
and  I  suppose  daddie  knows." 

"Poor  mite!"  thought  Waveney,  pityingly;  and  then  she 
said,  kindly,  "Are  you  alone,  little  one?  Is  your  home 
near  ?' '     But  the  child  shook  her  head. 

"Daddie  and  I  have  not  got  any  home,"  she  returned, 
wearily.  "There  aren't  any  homes  in  England,  are  there? 
We  live  with  Mrs.  Grimson  in  Chapel  Road.  I  think  she  is 
a  good  woman,"  she  continued,  gravely,  in  her  old-fashioned 
way;  "she  bathed  my  feet  so  nicely  when  I  got  wet.  But  I 
don't  like  her  rooms  ;  they  are  not  like  my  own  dear  home." 

"  Where  was  your  home,  my  dear  !"  asked  Waveney,  taking 
the  little  cold  hand  in  hers ;  but  the  child  hesitated. 

"  We  had  many  homes,  but  they  were  all  across  the  sea,  a 
long,  long  way  off.  We  came  in  a  big  ship,  with  such  a  nice 
captain.  Daddie' s  gone  to  Hamerton  to  look  for  Aunt  Joa, 
and  Mrs.  Grimson' s  Susan  left  me  here.  I  never  knew  before 
that  grown-ups  could  be  lost,  but  we  have  been  looking  for 
Aunt  Joa,  till  I  have  got  the  aches  in  my  legs,  and  we  have 
not  found  her  yet ! ' ' 

This  was  rather  puzzling  to  Waveney,  but  she  was  one  of 
those  motherly  girls  who  knew  by  instinct  how  to  win  a  child's 
heart,  so  she  only  cuddled  the  cold  little  hands  comfortably, 
and  asked  her  if  she  had  a  pretty  name.  Then  the  little  girl 
smiled,  showing  a  row  of  white,  pearly  teeth  as  she  did  so. 

"Dad  and  I  think  it  nice,"  she  returned,  nodding  her 
head  ;  ' '  but  it  is  very  short.     Daddy  says  I  am  too  small  to 

160 


"Dad's  Little  Betty" 


have  a  big  name.  I  am  Betty,"  with  an  important  air. 
1 'Dad's  little  Betty.  But  dad  does  always  call  me  Bet.  Is 
your  name  long  or  short?" 

Waveney  was  about  to  answer  this  friendly  question  when  a 
man's  voice  behind  them  made  her  start. 

"  Why,  Bet,"  it  said,  "  why  are  you  perched  up  here,  like 
a  lost  robin  ?  And  Susan  has  been  looking  for  you  half  over 
the  place." 

"  It  is  my  daddie.  It  is  my  dear  dad,"  cried  the  child,  joy- 
ously, and  the  next  moment  she  was  running  to  meet  a  tall 
man,  who  was  walking  quickly  towards  them. 

Waveney  watched  the  meeting.  She  saw  the  man  stoop  and 
kiss  the  little  one  fondly;  and  then  Bet  took  hold  of  his  rough 
coat  and  drew  him  towards  the  seat. 

"  Susan  was  naughty,  dad.  She  did  tell  me  to  sit  there,  and 
she  would  fetch  me,  and  she  did  never  come  at  all,  but  this 
young  lady  was  very  kind,  so  I  did  not  cry." 

"  That's  my  brave  little  Bet."  And  then  the  man  took  off 
his  hat  to  Waveney.  "Thank  you,  very  much,"  he  said, 
heartily.  "I  was  obliged  to  leave  my  little  girl,  and  I  am 
afraid  they  neglected  her." 

Waveney  felt  vaguely  perplexed.  The  man's  face,  and 
even  his  voice,  seemed  strangely  familiar  to  her,  and  yet  she 
was  sure  she  had  never  seen  him  before.  He  was  a  hand- 
some man,  though  his  face  looked  weather-beaten  and  some- 
what worn.  His  clothes  were  rough  and  shabby,  but  his 
voice  was  unmistakably  cultured ;  he  had  evidently  seen  better 
days. 

"Susan  is  not  always  naughty,"  observed  Betty.  "She 
gave  me  a  peppermint  once,  and  it  was  very  nice.  Dad,  dear, 
did  you  find  Aunt  Joa?"  Then  the  man  shook  his  head  in 
rather  a  depressed  way. 

"  No,  Bet,  and  we  are  still  down  on  our  luck.  There  is  no 
such  name  at  Hamerton.  Perhaps  this  lady  may  know  it" — 
and  then  he  looked  a  little  eagerly  at  Waveney.  "I  am  a 
stranger  in  these  parts.  Can  you  tell  me  if  any  one  of  the 
name  of  Chaytor  lives  at  Dereham?" 

"  Why,  yes,"  returned  Waveney,  surprised  by  the  question. 
"  Miss  Chaytor  and  her  brother  live  in  High  Street." 

"And  their  names? — their  Christian  names,  I  mean?" 
asked  the  stranger,  hoarsely. 

"  Mr.  Chaytor's  name  is  Thorold,"  returned  Waveney,  sim- 
ply, "  and  his  sister  is  Joanna."     Then  the  man  snatched  up 
»  161 


Mollie's  Prince 

the  child  in  his  arms;  he  seemed  almost  beside  himself. 
"  Thank  God,  we  have  found  them,  Bet.  My  dear  old  Theo 
and  Joa!  Oh,  what  a  fool  I  have  been,  going  so  far  afield, 
and  all  the  time  they  are  actually  at  Dereham ;"  and  then  he 
sat  down,  and  a  few  words  cleared  up  the  mystery. 

About  an  hour  later,  as  Joanna  was  drawing  the  crimson 
curtains  over  the  window,  Jemima  threw  open  the  door  with 
a  little  fling. 

"  There  is  a  child  outside  wanting  to  speak  to  you,  ma'am. 
I  would  not  let  her  into  the  passage,  because  she  might  have 
come  to  beg ;  but  she  said  she  wanted  Miss  Chaytor  most 
particular. ' ' 

"Very  well,  Jemima,  I  will  go  and  speak  to  her;"  and 
Joanna,  who  was  very  tender-hearted  and  never  turned  away 
a  tramp  unfed,  went  quickly  to  the  door. 

A  little  girl,  a  tiny  creature,  was  standing  there.  She  looked 
up  in  Joanna's  face  wistfully. 

"Oh,  please  will  you  tell  me  if  you  are  Miss  Chaytor — 
Miss  Joanna  Chaytor,"  correcting  herself  with  careful  pro- 
nunciation. 

"That  is  my  name,  certainly,"  returned  Joanna,  rather 
surprised  at  this.  "  And  what  do  you  want  with  me,  my  little 
girl?" 

"  Oh,  please,  Aunt  Joa,"  returned  the  child,  "lam  Betty, 
dad's  little  Betty,  and  daddy  is  at  the  gate."  And  then,  the 
next  moment,  a  man's  shadow  was  distinctly  visible. 


CHAPTER  XXL 
a  child's  creed. 


"  I  was  born,  sir,  when  the  crab  was  ascending  and  my  affairs  go  back- 
wards."— CONGREVE. 

"  Heaven  lies  about  us  in  our  infancy." — Wordsworth. 

Thorold  Chaytor  was  not  an  imaginative  man;  he  was 
neither  emotional  nor  impressionable,  and  more  than  once 
lately  he  had  puzzled  himself  over  the  singular  persistency 
with  which  his  long-lost  brother  Tristram  haunted  him.     For 

162 


A  Child's  Creed 

the  last  two  or  three  years  he  had  hardly  thought  of  him,  but 
now,  as  he  crossed  the  bridge  of  an  evening,  little  tricks  of 
speech  and  long-forgotten  scenes  would  recur  to  his  memory ; 
but  he  never  spoke  of  this  to  Joanna. 

"  Poor  old  Trist,  I  hope  nothing  has  happened  to  him,"  he 
said  to  himself  one  evening,  when  the  impression  of  his 
brother's  presence  had  been  so  unusually  strong  that  the 
familiar  face  had  seemed  as  though  it  had  been  limned  against 
the  darkness.  And  then  he  thought  sadly,  and  shuddered  at 
the  thought,  how  it  was  a  well-known  psychological  fact  that 
people  at  the  point  of  death  had  often  appeared,  or  rather 
seemed  to  appear,  to  some  relative  or  friend. 

"Of  course,  it  is  only  animal  magnetism — the  transmission 
of  thought — the  influence  of  one  mind  over  another,"  he 
thought — "a  strong  wave-beat  of  sympathy.  But  I  should 
not  have  thought  that  I  was  the  man  for  that  sort  of  experi- 
ence." And  then  he  pu  this  latch-key  into  the  door,  and  let 
himself  in. 

As  he  hung  up  his  hat  on  its  accustomed  peg,  he  was  aware 
of  an  unusual  silence  in  the  house.  The  parlour  door  was  not 
opened,  and  there  was  no  Joanna,  with  her  irritating  question, 
"Is  that  you,  Thorold?' '  Neither  did  he  hear  her  soft,  gliding 
footsteps  overhead. 

"  Perhaps  she  has  gone  to  the  Red  House  after  all,"  he  said 
to  himself.  And  the  thought  of  an  evening  of  blissful  soli- 
tude pleased  him  well.  But  as  he  entered  the  sitting-room,  he 
started.  There  were  no  preparations  for  the  evening  meal. 
The  tea-things  were  still  on  the  table,  and,  to  his  intense  sur- 
prise, a  child — actually  a  child — was  fast  asleep  on  the  couch 
by  the  fire. 

Thorold  crossed  the  room  softly,  and  contemplated  the  little 
stranger  with  puzzled  eyes.  "It  must  be  one  of  Joa's  waifs 
and  strays,"  he  thought — for  he  was  aware  of  his  sister's 
charitable  propensities.  And  yet  she  hardly  looked  like  a 
tramp's  child. 

"Very  likely  the  poor  little  thing  has  lost  her  way,  and 
Joa  is  taking  her  in  for  the  night,"  he  continued.  "Poor 
child,  she  seems  tired  out."  And  then  his  eyes  softened,  as 
he  noticed  how  carefully  Joanna  had  wrapped  her  up  in  her 
old  fur  cloak. 

The  next  moment  he  heard  his  sister's  footsteps  on  the 
stairs,  and  went  out  into  the  passage  to  question  her.  But 
when  he  saw  her  face,  he  was  struck  dumb  with  astonishment. 

163 


Mollie's  Prince 

Joanna  was  looking  radiant.  She  was  dimpling  and  smiling 
like  the  girl  Joa  of  old,  and  her  blue  eyes  were  shining  through 
happy  tears. 

"  Oh,  Thorold,  why  are  you  so  late.  We  have  wanted  you 
so!"  And  Joanna's  thin  white  hands  grasped  him  almost 
convulsively. 

"  Who  is  that  child?"  he  whispered,  loudly.  "  Is  it  some 
one  you  have  found  in  the  street  ?"  Then,  in  her  excitement, 
she  gave  him  an  hysterical  little  push. 

"You  have  seen  her !  Oh,  Thorold,  is  she  not  like  him? 
His  little  Betty  !  My  darling  Tristram's  little  Betty!"  and  as 
he  stared  at  her,  and  turned  pale — for  a  sudden  prevision  of 
the  truth  had  come  to  him — she  sobbed  out,  "Yes,  yes,  Tris- 
tram has  come — he  is  upstairs;  he  is  in  your  room,  Thorold. 
Go  to  him,  dear,  while  I  get  your  supper  ready."  And  then 
Thorold  drew  a  long  breath,  and  darted  upstairs.  And  Joanna, 
crying  softly,  out  of  sheer  bliss  and  gratitude,  busied  herself 
in  womanly  ministrations. 

Thorold  was  thankful  to  meet  his  brother  alone.  In  spite 
of  his  reserve  he  was  a  man  of  deep  feelings,  and  when  he 
felt  Tristram's  mighty  grasp  of  his  hand,  and  heard  his  familiar 
voice  say  in  broken  accents,  "  Theo,  dear  old  fellow  ! — dear 
old  chap  ! "  he  was  almost  too  moved  to  speak. 

"Why  have  you  not  written  to  us  all  these  years?"  were  his 
first  coherent  words ;  but  Tristram  shook  his  head — he  had  no 
excuse  to  offer.  He  had  drifted  from  place  to  place,  seeking 
work  and  not  always  finding  it,  and  he  did  not  wish  his  friends 
to  know  how  hardly  things  had  gone  with  him." 

"I  was  always  a  proud  beggar,  Thorold,"  he  said,  with  a 
sigh,  "but  my  back  is  pretty  well  broken  now,  and  there's 
Bet,  you  see." 

"And  Ella— where  is  your  wife,  Trist?"  Then  Tristram 
turned  his  head  aside. 

"  Ella  is  dead.  I  buried  her  two  years  ago,"  he  returned, 
sadly.  "Poor  dear  Ella,  she  never  had  her  good  things  in 
this  life.  ■  You  have  taken  me  for  better  or  for  worse,  but 
there  has  been  no  better  in  it  at  all,'  I  often  said  to  her ;  but 
she  never  liked  me  to  say  it.  Ah,  she  was  the  best  wife  a  man 
could  have,  but  she  lies  in  the  cemetery  at  Melbourne,  and 
little  Theo  lies  with  her — I  called  him  after  you,  old  chap. 
But  he  never  got  over  the  fever.  I  think  it  was  the  loss  of 
the  boy  that  finished  Ella,  for  she  never  seemed  to  hold  up  her 
head  again." 

164 


A  Child's  Creed 

Tristram  evidently  felt  his  wife's  death  acutely,  and  Thorold, 
with  quiet  tact,  said  a  word  or  two  of  sympathy  and  then 
changed  the  subject. 

Before  their  brief  talk  was  over,  and  they  went  downstairs 
to  join  Joanna,  Thorold  found  out  that  Tristram  was  utterly 
unchanged.  The  handsome  ne'er-do-well,  as  Althea  used  to 
call  him,  was  only  a  little  older,  and  perhaps  a  trifle  rougher, 
but  he  was  the  same  irresponsible,  happy-go-lucky,  easy-tem- 
pered Tristram  of  old. 

Shiftless  and  indolent,  he  had  drifted  wherever  the  tide  of 
circumstance  had  carried  him.  Sometimes  he  had  worked  and 
at  other  times  he  had  starved ;  but  when  any  good  Samaritan 
stretched  out  a  helping  hand  and  drew  him  out  from  the  Slough 
of  Despond,  he  would  pull  himself  together  and  go  on  gaily, 
as  though  the  sun  of  prosperity  had  always  shone  on  him. 
Never  were  there  two  brothers  so  widely  dissimilar.  But 
Tristram  was  no  evil-living  prodigal,  no  black  sheep,  to  be 
dreaded  and  shunned  by  all  right-minded  people;  he  had 
loved  his  wife,  and  had  treated  her  well,  and  the  poor  woman 
had  repaid  him  with  the  truest  devotion ;  and  now  his  sister 
had  received  him  with  tears  of  joy.  His  sins  were  the  sins  of 
a  weak  nature,  a  nature  that  disliked  effort,  and  chose  the 
softest  paths  for  itself,  and  which  landed  him  in  strange  places 
sometimes. 

"  I  have  made  an  awful  muddle  of  my  life,"  he  said,  when 
Thorold  questioned  him  with  kindly  interest.  "Don't  you 
recollect  the  dear  old  governor  said  something  of  the  kind 
on  his  death-bed  ?  Upon  my  word,  old  chap,  I  think  I  am 
the  unluckiest  beggar  that  ever  walked  this  earth.  Nothing 
prospers  with  me.  If  I  make  a  little  money  I  somehow  con- 
trive to  lose  it.  I  am  pretty  nearly  at  the  end  of  my  tether,  I 
can  tell  you  that?" 

"  What  made  you  leave  Melbourne  !"  asked  Thorold,  in  his 
calm,  judicial  way.  Then  Tristram  shrugged  his  shoulders 
and  seemed  unwilling  to  answer  the  question. 

"Well,  I  was  a  fool,"  he  returned,  presently;  and  he 
pulled  his  rough  moustache  a  little  fiercely.  "The  biggest 
fool  out,  if  you  will ;  but  I  got  into  a  regular  panic.  There 
were  two  of  them  lying  there,  and  Bet  was  seedy,  and  I  got 
it  into  my  head  that  the  climate  of  Melbourne  did  not  suit 
her ;  and  then  I  thought  what  a  fine  thing  it  would  be  if  Joa 
could  look  after  her  a  bit.  A  child  wants  a  woman's  care ; 
and  as  I  smoked  my  pipe  that  evening  1  had  such  a  fit  of 

165 


Mollie's  Prince 

homesickness  that  I  was  nearly  crazy.  I  had  a  bit  of  money 
put  by,  and  I  took  our  berths  the  next  day ;  and  here  we  are, 
old  chap,  and  you  must  just  make  the  best  of  us;"  and 
Tristram  brought  down  his  hand  heavily  on  his  brother's 
shoulder. 

They  went  downstairs  after  this,  and  found  Betty  awake 
and  sitting  on  her  aunt's  lap.  The  little  one  was  chattering 
happily  to  her,  and  Joanna  was  fondly  stroking  the  plait  of 
fair  hair.  "  So  he  says  to  me,  '  You  are  dad's  Betty,  are  you, 
my  little  Miss?'  and  I  said,  'Yes,  of  course,  Mr.  Captain, 
that  is  what  daddie  does  always  call  me,'  and  he  laughed  in 
his  beard,  oh  !  such  a  great  laugh. ' ' 

"Why,  Bet,  you  chatterbox,  are  you  talking  about  your 
friend  the  captain?"  exclaimed  Tristram.  "Come  here, 
you  monkey,  and  speak  to  Uncle  Theo;"  and  Betty  came 
with  ready  obedience. 

"I  am  very  glad  to  see  you,  Uncle  Theo,"  she  said, 
gravely,  slipping  her  little  hand  into  his.  And  Thorold 
stooped  down  and  kissed  her  cheek ;  then  a  little  awkwardly 
he  lifted  her  on  his  knee,  and  scrutinised  the  childish  features. 
Bet's  blue  eyes  opened  rather  widely ;  she  was  vaguely  alarmed 
by  her  new  uncle's  solemnity. 

"  Daddie,"  she  said,  after  a  few  minutes'  silent  endurance. 
"  Does  not  Uncle  Theo  like  me?  He  do  stare  so.  And  he 
has  such  big  eyes."  For,  even  to  wee  Betty,  "  the  noticeable 
man,  with  large  grey  eyes' '  was  a  formidable  being  at  close 
quarters. 

They  all  laughed  at  this ;  and  Thorold  kissed  her  again, 
and  told  her  to  run  to  Aunt  Joa  and  she  would  make  her 
more  comfortable.  But  to  his  astonishment  Bet  refused  to 
leave  him,  Her  nature  was  a  curiously  sensitive  one,  and  she 
had  got  it  into  her  small  mind  that  her  plain  speaking  had 
hurt  him,  and  that  she  must  somehow  make  it  up  with  him. 

"I  don't  mind  big  eyes  if  they  are  nice  ones,"  she  said, 
graciously;   "and  yours  are  pretty  nice,  Uncle  Theo." 

Bet  was  rather  aggrieved  when  her  flattering  speech  was 
received  with  fresh  mirth.  She  was  not  so  sure  after  that 
that  she  did  not  like  Aunt  Joa  much  the  best. 

When  supper  was  over,  Bet  went  to  bed.  Joanna  had  re- 
fused to  part  with  her,  and  had  carried  her  off  to  her  own  room. 
To  the  jaded,  disappointed  woman,  the  sight  of  Bet  kneeling 
by  the  bedside  and  saying  her  simple  prayers  was  very  sweet 
and  touching. 

1 66 


A  Child's  Creed 

"  God  bless  dear  daddie,'  and  my  own  dear  mammie  and 
dear  little  brother  Theo,  and  Uncle  Theo  and  Aunt  Joa,  too, 
for  ever  and  ever. — Amen." 

"Bet,  darling,"  whispered  Joanna,  pressing  the  little  white- 
gowned  figure  tenderly  in  her  arms,  "  did  father  teach  you 
those  prayers?" 

"Yes,  he  did  teach  me,"  returned  Bet,  sleepily;  and  then 
she  roused  up.  "  There  was  an  old  woman  once,  Aunt  Joa, 
she  was  a  silly  old  woman,  and  she  did  say  to  dad,  <  Why  do 
you  let  that  baby  pray  for  her  mother  ?  I  am  quite  shocked, ' 
and  dad,  he  did  say,  'I  am  sorry,  ma'am,  that  you  should  be 
shocked,  but  I  don't  think  the  angels  are  a  bit  offended  be- 
cause my  little  girl  asks  God  to  bless  one  of  the  dearest  of 
mothers.'  Oh,  I  did  laugh,  I  was  so  pleased  when  dad  said 
that!" 

When  Joanna  went  downstairs,  she  found  the  two  brothers 
talking  over  the  fire.  She  sat  down  beside  Tristram,  but  on 
this  evening  there  was  no  tangled  skein  in  her  hands ;  they 
were  folded  placidly  in  her  lap.  It  was  occupation  enough 
for  her  to  look  at  Tristam's  brown,  weather-beaten  face,  and 
to  listen  to  his  voice.  Now  and  then  he  looked  at  her  with  a 
kind  smile. 

"Trist,  do  you  know  that  Thorold  has  nearly  paid  off 
father's  debts  ?' '  she  said,  presently.  Then  Tristram  regarded 
his  brother  almost  with  awe. 

"  Oh,  you  were  always  a  fine  fellow,  Theo,"  he  said,  envi- 
ously. "  You  are  the  good  elder  brother,  you  know,  and  I  am 
the  prodigal. ' '  Here  he  sighed  heavily.  "  Well,  I  am  weary 
of  my  husks,  I  want  to  turn  over  a  new  leaf  and  settle  down. 
You  will  find  me  some  work,  old  chap,  and  I'll  stick  to  it 
like  a  Trojan,  I  give  you  my  word  I  will." 

"Work  is  not  so  easy  to  find,"  returned  Thorold,  quietly, 
"but  I  will  do  what  I  can  to  help  you.  I  am  pretty  busy 
myself,  for  I  have  to  get  up  an  important  case.  We  will  talk 
about  ways  and  means  to-morrow." 

"  Yes,  and  I  must  be  going  to  my  diggings  now,  or  Mother 
Gnmson  will  think  I  am  lost.  She's  a  decent  body,  Mother 
Gnmson,  and  has  been  very  good  to  my  Bet."  As  Tristram 
rose  from  his  chair,  Joanna  caught  hold  of  his  arm. 

"  Wait  a  moment,  Trist— I  want  to  ask  Thorold  something 
before  you  go.  Why  should  not  Trist  and  Betty  come  here? 
—at  least  for  a  time.  There  is  plenty  of  room,  and  I  could 
look  after  £et— and  Jemima   is  so  fond  of  children.      Do 

167 


Mollie's  Prince 

have  them,  my  dear,  it  will  make  me  so  happy;"  and  Joanna 
timidly  put  her  hand  on  Thorold's  arm. 

"No,  no!"  returned  Tristram;  but  he  spoke  a  little 
hoarsely.  "You  are  a  good  creature,  Joa,  but  I  must  not 
take  advantage  of  your  kindness.  I  have  made  my  own  bed, 
and  it  is  a  hard  one,  and  I  must  lie  on  it."  But  he  looked 
at  his  brother  very  wistfully  as  he  said  this. 

There  was  no  hesitation  in  Thorold's  manner. 
,     "Joanna  is  right,"  he  said,  calmly,  "you  had  better  come 
to  us,  Trist,  at  least  for  a  time,  while  you  are  looking  for  a 
berth  to  suit  you;"    and  Tristram  accepted  this  offer  with 
gratitude. 

"Oh,  Thorold,  you  have  made  us  both  so  happy!"  ex- 
claimed Joanna,  gratefully,  when  Tristram  had  left  them. 
"  Bet  is  such  a  darling,  I  could  not  bring  myself  to  part  with 
her."     But  Thorold  only  smiled  at  her  without  speaking. 

When  Joanna  had  gone  up  to  her  room,  he  sat  down  by 
the  fire.  He  wanted  to  think  over  things  quietly.  The 
millstone  that  had  been  so  long  round  his  neck  was  slipping 
off,  and  now  he  must  adjust  his  shoulders  to  a  new  burden. 

The  wanderer  had  returned,  and  he  and  his  helpless  child 
were  to  be  received  under  his  roof.  Was  he  glad  or  sorry  for 
this?  Was  the  burden  or  the  joy  the  greater?  Would  his 
home  life  be  gladdened  or  still  further  depressed  by  these 
new  inmates?  Thorold  could  not  answer  these  questions; 
his  straightforward,  sincere  nature  only  grasped  the  one  fact. 

"It  is  my  duty.  With  all  his  faults  and  follies,  he  is  my 
only  brother.  God  do  so  to  me  and  more  also,  if  I  refuse  to 
help  my  own  flesh  and  blood  !" 

Althea  was  very  much  moved  when  Waveney  carried  home 
the  news  that  evening.  She  drove  down  to  High  Street  so 
early  the  next  morning  that  Joanna  was  still  doing  her  market- 
ing. She  found  Tristram  sitting  by  the  fire,  with  Bet  on  his 
knee.     He  put  down  the  child  when  he  saw  a  stranger. 

"Do  you  remember  an  old  friend,  Tristram?"  she  said, 
holding  out  her  hand,  and  looking  at  him  kindly.  Then  a 
sudden  light  dawned  on  him. 

"Is  it — can  it  be  Althea?"  he  asked;  and  as  she  smiled 
he  wrung  her  hands  so  energetically  that  she  winced  with 
pain.  "  Oh,  yes,  of  course,  I  recognise  you  now.  You  are 
just  the  same,  Althea.  You  are  not  a  bit  changed  all  these 
years." 

"  No,  I  have  only  grown  older ;  we  all  do  that,  you  know. 

16S 


Between  the  Acts 

And  this  is  your  little  girl,  Tristram?  But  she  is  not  like 
you." 

"  No,  Bet  takes  after  her  mother ;  but  Ella  was  pretty, 
and  Bet  is  not,  bless  her."  Then  Betty,  who  was  snugly 
ensconced  in  Althea's  arm,  peeped  out  at  her  father  with  a 
protesting  face. 

"  Did  you  want  your  little  Bet  to  be  pretty,  dad  ?' '  she  asked, 
rather  sadly. 

"  No,  my  pet,"  he  returned,  laughing.  "  I  don't  want  her 
any  different." 

"Oh,  I  am  glad  of  that,"  returned  the  child;  and  then 
she  frowned,  anxiously.  "  You  are  quite  sure,  dad?  I  could 
try  very  hard,  you  know ;  every  one  can  try  hard  to  be 
pretty."  And  then,  in  a  low  voice,  "  And  I  could  ask  God 
to  help  me.  Mother  always  did  say,  I  might  ask  for  any- 
thing I  want ;  and  I  could  just  say,  '  Dad  wants  his  little  girl 
to  be  real  pretty,  so  please  make  me  so  for  ever  and  for  ever. 
—Amen.'" 

Tristram  looked  at  Althea  with  a  smile  ;  he  was  used  to 
Bet's  quaint  speeches.  He  was  surprised  to  see  that  Althea's 
eyes  were  full  of  tears. 

"  How  beautiful  it  is  !"  she  sighed.  "The  faith  of  little 
children,  how  it  shames  us  poor  worldlings !"  But  at  that 
moment  Joanna  entered  the  room,  and  Bet,  with  a  joyful 
exclamation,  ran  to  meet  her. 


CHAPTER   XXII. 

BETWEEN   THE   ACTS. 


"  In  all  the  humours,  whether  grave  or  mellow, 
Thou's  such  a  touchy,  testy,  pleasant  fellow, 
Hast  so  much  wit  and  mirth,  and  spleen  about  thee 
That  there's  no  living  with  thee  or  without  thee." 

Addison  {Spectator). 

"  The  way  is  as  plain  as  way  to  parish  church." — As  You  Like  It. 

In  all  London  there  were  no  two  happier  girls  than  Wave- 
ney  and  Mollie  Ward  that  Wednesday  evening  ;  nevertheless, 
Mollie's  cup  of  bliss  lacked  one  ingredient  to  make  it  perfect. 
If  only  Waveney  were  there  ! 

169 


Mollie's  Prince 

If  she  had  only  known  that  at  that  very  moment  Waveney 
was  peeping  at  her  from  the  back  of  the  box  opposite ! 
"  There  is  my  dear  Mollie,"  she  whispered,  excitedly;  then 
Althea,  much  perplexed,  swept  the  boxes  with  her  opera- 
glass. 

She  could  not  see  the  girl  anywhere;  but  just  opposite 
them,  standing  quite  alone  in  the  front  of  a  box,  there  was  a 
young  lady  in  a  white  silk  cloak,  and  a  pink  shower  bouquet 
in  her  hand,  and  she  had  the  sweetest  and  most  beautiful  face 
that  Althea  had  ever  seen. 

"  What  a  lovely  girl !"  she  said  to  herself;  and  she  was  not 
surprised  to  see  that  opera-glasses  from  all  parts  of  the  house 
were  levelled  in  that  direction  ;  but  the  next  moment  she 
started — for  surely  she  recognized  that  dark,  foreign-looking 
man  who  had  just  entered  the  box. 

"Moritz  !"  she  ejaculated.  "Good  heavens,  could  that 
exquisite  young  creature  be  Mollie  Ward  !"  and  then  Althea's 
colour  changed  as  a  slight,  fair  man  joined  them,  followed  by 
a  tall,  aristocratic-looking  youth  with  pince-nez. 

"  Father  and  Noel,"  whispered  Waveney,  in  a  voice  of  sup- 
pressed ecstasy ;  but  only  Doreen  heard  her.  Althea's  lips 
were  white  and  trembling ;  the  lights  were  flickering  before 
her  eyes ;  the  tuning  up  of  the  instruments  in  the  orchestra 
sounded  harsh  and  discordant. 

No,  she  had  not  expected  this  ! — to  find  him  so  unchanged. 
It  was  twenty-one  years  since  they  had  met,  and  yet  it  seemed 
to  her  that  it  was  the  same  Everard  Ward  whom  she  remem- 
bered so  well ;  he  even  wore  the  same  white  stephanotis  in  his 
coat. 

He  was  a  little  older,  perhaps,  a  trifle  thinner,  but  it  was 
the  same  perfect  face.  Distance  and  the  electric  light  soft- 
ened down  defects.  Althea  could  not  see  how  shiny  and  worn 
Everard's  dress-coat  was  any  more  than  she  could  see  the  lines 
on  his  forehead  and  round  his  eyes,  or  the  threatened  bald- 
ness ;  she  only  noticed  that  he  stood  in  his  old  attitude,  his 
head  raised,  and  one  hand  lightly  twirling  his  moustache. 
Althea  stifled  a  sigh.  Well,  she  was  glad  to  have  seen  him 
again,  very  glad.  When  ghosts  were  troublesome  it  was  well 
to  lay  them.  And  then,  though  her  woman's  heart  failed  her, 
and  she  vaguely  felt  that  Doreen  had  been  wiser  and  more 
prudent  than  she,  she  determined  to  pluck  up  spirit  and  play 
her  little  drama  to  the  bitter  end. 

The  curtain  had  now  drawn  up,  and  they  were  at  liberty  to 

170 


Between  the  Acts 

seat  themselves  comfortably  in  the  front  of  the  box.  Mollie's 
and  Waveney's  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  stage,  but  Mr.  Ingram, 
who  had  seen  the  play  before,  was  not  so  engrossed.  He  had 
just  discovered  a  picturesque  little  girl  in  a  sapphire  blue 
cloak,  and  a  curly  babyish-looking  head  who  reminded  him 
of  his  little  Samaritan ;  he  wanted  to  take  another  look  at 
her,  but  he  could  only  see  her  profile.  And  then  Althea's 
long,  pale  face  and  reddish  hair  came  into  view,  and  beside 
her  Doreen's  dark-complexioned  features. 

"Now  what  on  earth  has  put  it  into  my  cousins'  heads  to 
come  here  to-night?"  he  said  to  himself,  in  a  vexed  voice. 
"It  is  not  like  Althea  to  spoil  sport  in  this  fashion.  And 
they  have  brought  little  Miss  Ward,  too,"  and  then  he  frowned 
and  twisted  his  moustache  fiercely,  and  growled  under  his 
breath,  "  Confound  those  women  !"  in  quite  irate  fashion. 

Any  one  who  knew  Mr.  Ingram  well — his  moiher,  if  he 
had  one,  or  his  sister — for  there  was  certainly  no  wife  en  evi- 
dence— would  have  seen  that  he  was  greatly  chagrined  and 
perplexed ;  but,  being  a  humourist  and  one  of  the  most  good- 
natured  men  living,  he  worked  off  his  wrath  harmlessly  by 
parodying  the  well-known  verse,  and  muttering  it  softly  for 
his  own  refreshment : 

"  Oh,  woman  in  our  hour  of  ease 
A  giddy  flirt,  a  flippant  tease, 
As  aggravating  as  the  shade 
By  blind  Venetian  ever  made. 
When  pain  and  anguish  wring  the  brow 
A  veritable  humbug  thou." 

And  lo  and  behold  !  he  was  so  pleased  with  his  own  clever- 
ness that  his  exasperation  died  a  natural  death. 

The  first  act  was  over  before  Mollie  caught  sight  of  Wave- 
ney,  and  then  her  delight  and  excitement  were  so  great  that 
her  father  had  to  gently  admonish  her  that  they  were  sur- 
rounded by  strangers  ;  and  Noel,  in  a  melodramatic  whisper, 
threatened  to  take  strong  measures  unless  she  behaved  properly 
and  left  off  kissing  her  hand  like  a  crazy  infant. 

The  next  moment  Mr.  Ingram  left  his  seat,  and  Althea, 
who  guessed  that  he  was  coming  across  to  them,  went  to  the 
back  of  the  box  to  receive  him. 

He  looked  at  her  gravelv.  "  Et  tu  Brute  /"  he  said,  re- 
proachfully, as  he  took  her  hand. 

171 


Mollie's  Prince 

Althea  laughed.  "  Oh,  I  was  not  spying  on  you,  my  lord," 
she  returned,  playfully  ;  but  he  exclaimed, — 

"Hush,  for  pity's  sake!"  in  such  an  agonised  tone  that 
Althea  nearly  laughed  again. 

"That  child  does  not  hear  us,"  she  said,  soothingly. 
"  Shall  we  take  a  turn  in  the  corridor?"  And  as  he  nodded 
assent,  they  went  out  together.  Waveney  had  not  even  seen 
him  enter  the  box ;  she  was  busily  telegraphing  to  Mollie. 

"Well,  Moritz?"  demanded  Althea,  in  an  amused  tone, 
"  you  may  as  well  make  a  clean  breast  of  it.  Why  have  you 
forgotten  your  poor  old  cousins  at  the  Red  House,  and  why 
are  you  masquerading  in  this  mysterious  fashion  ?  They  call 
you  Mr.  Ingram,  these  children,  but  you  are  not  Mr.  Ingram 
now ;  and  though  I  am  not  curious — oh,  not  the  least  bit  in 
the  world  !"  as  he  smiled,  provokingly;  "  I  should  like  to  know 
what  it  all  means." 

"  What  it  means.  Upon  my  word,  Althea,  you  have  asked 
a  difficult  question.  One  cannot  always  tell  the  meaning  of 
things."  And  then  Moritz  pulled  his  moustache  in  a  per- 
plexed way.  "  Haven't  you  watched  some  boy  throw  a  stone 
in  a  pond  ?  It  may  be  a  mere  pebble,  but  the  circles  widen 
and  widen  until  the  whole  surface  of  the  water  is  covered  with 
intersecting  circles?" 

"  Why,  yes,"  she  returned,  coolly,  "but  we  are  not  throw- 
ing stones  just  now,  are  we?" 

"  No,  it  was  only  a  parable  ;  I  deal  in  parables  sometimes. 
I  was  just  flinging  my  little  pebble  for  mere  sport  and  idleness, 
when  I  called  myself  by  my  old  name.  I  wanted  to  be  incog- 
nito, to  have  no  gaudy  tag  or  bobtail  attached  to  my  hum- 
drum personality ;  only,  you  see,  the  play  has  lasted  longer 
than  usual." 

"But  why?"  she  persisted — but  her  tone  was  a  little 
anxious.  "Moritz,  please  do  not  think  me  disagreeable, — 
you  were  always  a  whimsical  being,  and  only  Gwen  knows  the 
extent  of  your  eccentricities ;  but  I  am  interested  in  these 
people."  Here  she  caught  her  breath  a  little.  "  When  Mr. 
Ward  knows,  he  might  not  be  pleased." 

"Oh,  I  will  take  my  chance  of  that,"  he  returned,  obsti- 
nately.    But  Althea  had  not  finished  all  she  had  to  say. 

"We  used  to  know  him  so  well  in  the  old  days;  he  was 
constantly  at  Kitlands.  No,  I  know  you  and  Gwen  never 
saw  him  there.  You  were  living  abroad  those  two  years.  But 
Thorold   Chaytor  knew  him.     I   was  thinking  that  all   this 

172 


Between  the  Acts 

masquerading  might  lead  to  awkward  complications  by  and 
by." 

"  Nonsense  !"  he  returned,  quickly.  "  What  makes  you  so 
faint-hearted?  My  dear  cousin,  there  will  be  no  complica- 
tions at  all."     But  Althea  shook  her  head  almost  sadly. 

"Listen  to  me,"  he  went  on,  with  increased  animation. 
"It  is  a  pretty  little  comedy  in  real  life,  and  full  of  dramatic 
situations.  I  am  enjoying  my  incognito  immensely ;  it  is  the 
best  bit  of  fun  I  have  had  since  poor  old  Ralston  died.  In 
Cleveland  Terrace  I  am  Monsieur  Blackie ;  I  adore  the  name 
— it  suits  me  down  to  the  ground."  Then,  as  Althea  laughed, 
he  took  hold  of  her  arm  in  a  coaxing  fashion. 

"Althea,  you  are  a  good  creature — you  must  promise  to 
keep  my  secret  for  a  little  while.  I  have  made  all  my  plans 
and  prepared  my  denouement,  and  I  shall  want  your  help  in 
carrying  it  out.  No  hints  to  Gwen,  no  treasonable  correspond- 
ence !  Gwen  is  a  good  girl,  but  her  honesty  is  almost  clumsy 
— it  is  yea,  yea,  and  nay,  nay,  with  her  and  Jack  too.  My 
masquerading,  as  you  call  it,  would  simply  shock  her.  Now 
I  have  promised  Miss  Mollie  to  bring  her  sister  to  our  box, 
and  I  must  keep  my  word." 

Perhaps  Moritz's  voice  changed  as  he  said  this,  but  Althea 
looked  at  him  rather  earnestly. 

"She  is  beautiful  as  an  angel,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice. 
"  Take  care  of  yourself,  Moritz. ' '  But  only  a  flash  of  his  eyes 
answered  her.  Certainly  Althea  looked  very  grave  when  she 
re-entered  the  box. 

Mr.  Ingram  had  warned  Mollie  that  there  must  be  no  stage 
embrace,  so  she  had  to  content  herself  by  squeezing  Waveney's 
hand  at  intervals. 

The  second  act  had  already  commenced,  and  until  it  had 
ended  there  could  be  no  conversation  between  the  sisters. 
But  when  the  curtain  fell  for  the  second  time  Mollie  dried 
her  eyes — for  she  had  been  shedding  a  deluge  of  tears — 
sniffed  daintily  at  her  flowers,  and  then  asked  Waveney,  in 
a  loud  whisper,  if  Miss  Althea  had  given  her  that  pretty  cloak. 

Waveney  nodded.  "Yes.  Is  it  not  sweet  of  her?  She 
says  I  am  to  keep  it.  But,  Mollie,  dear,  yours  is  almost  too 
lovely.  Do  you  know,  Miss  Althea  would  not  believe  you 
were  Mollie  Ward,  because  you  were  so  beautifully  dressed. 
Cinderella  is  turned  into  a  princess  to-night."  And  then  she 
put  her  lips  to  Mollie's  ear.  "  Did  you  find  out  anything  from 
the  Black  Prince  ?" 

173 


Mollie's  Prince 

t(  Yes — no — oh,  please  hush,"  returned  Mollie,  with  a  dis- 
tracting blush,  and  a  timid  glance  at  Ingram.  "No,  dear, 
he  will  not  own  to  it ;  but,  of  course,  I  know.  There !  the 
curtain  is  going  up  again,  and  we  shall  hear  if  that  dear  girl 
is  really  dead." 

Mollie  had  made  her  little  attempt  while  she  was  waiting  for 
her  father  and  Noel.  Mr.  Ingram  had  come  early,  but  Mollie 
was  already  dressed,  and  limping  up  and  down  the  room;  for 
she  was  far  too  restless  to  sit  still. 

"I  have  brought  you  some  flowers,"  he  said,  simply,  as  he 
handed  her  the  magnificent  bouquet.  Then,  as  Mollie 
blushed  and  thanked  him,  she  carefully  rehearsed  the  little 
speech  that  she  had  prepared  beforehand.  He  was  looking 
at  her  cloak,  admiring  it.  Yes,  his  eyes  certainly  expressed 
decided  approbation. 

"Mr.  Ingram,"  she  stammered — for  tact  and  finesse  were 
not  strong  points  with  Mollie,  "do  you  know  I  have  had 
a  great  surprise.  I  have  had  such  a  beautiful  present.  It  came 
the  other  night,  and  there  was  no  name  and  no  address. 
And  I  do  so  want  to  thank  the  kind  friend  who  sent  it. ' ' 

Mr.  Ingram  was  arranging  the  flowers  in  his  buttonhole.  A 
leaf  was  awry,  and  he  was  the  soul  of  neatness.  Perhaps  this 
was  why  he  did  not  look  at  Mollie. 

"  Dear  me,"  he  said,  quietly.  "  An  anonymous  gift !  This 
sounds  interesting.  A  little  mystery  always  enhances  the 
value  of  a  thing." 

"Oh,  do  you  think  so?"  returned  Mollie,  rather  non- 
plussed by  his  tone.  "  I  suppose,  being  a  girl,  I  think  dif- 
ferently about  that.  I  am  sure  that  I  should  enjoy  wearing 
my  beautiful  cloak  a  hundred  times  more  if  I  could  thank 
the  giver." 

"  There  now,"  observed  Ingram,  in  a  voice  of  supreme 
satisfaction,  "I  did  not  like  to  ask  the  question  for  fear  you 
should  think  me  inquisitive.  And  it  is  really  that  cloak  that 
becomes  you  so  well — that  is  the  mysterious  present — I 
congratulate  you,  Miss  Mollie,  I  do  indeed,  for  I  never  saw 
you  look  better  in  my  life.  Upon  my  word,  if  I  were  order- 
ing an  evening  cloak  for  Gwen  I  would  choose  her  just  such 
another." 

Poor  Mollie.  All  this  glib  talk  bewildered  her,  but  she 
was  far  too  grateful,  and  too  much  in  earnest,  to  give  up  her 
point,  so  she  only  raised  her  lovely  eyes  to  Ingram  and  said, 
very  wistfully, — 

174 


Between  the  Acts 

"  You  could  not  help  me  to  find  out.  I  do  so  want  to 
know."  But  Ingram  only  shrugged  his  shoulders:  he  even 
looked  a  trifle  bored. 

"  You  may  ask  me  anything  else,  Miss  Moilie,  but  I  assure 
you  I  should  make  a  bad  detective.  Why,"  he  continued, 
airily.  "I  find  it  difficult  enough  to  keep  my  own  secrets, 
without  finding  out  other  people's.  Oh,  here  comes  our  friend 
the  humourist.  And  now  may  I  beg  to  inform  you  that  Mon- 
sieur Blackie's  carriage  stops  the  way." 

Waveney  did  not  return  to  her  friends'  box,  and  at  the  con- 
clusion of  the  play  they  all  met  in  the  lobby.  Waveney  was 
hanging  on  her  father's  arm,  but  he  disengaged  himself  hastily 
when  he  saw  the  sisters. 

Althea,  who  had  been  nerving  herself  for  this  moment  all 
the  evening,  was  only  a  little  paler  than  usual  as  she  held  out 
her  hand  to  him. 

"It  is  a  great  many  years  since  we  met,  Mr.  Ward,"  she 
said,  with  a  grave  smile. 

"Yes,"  he  returned,  looking  at  her  with  equal  gravity;  but 
his  eyes  were  sad.  "  More  than  twenty  years,  I  think;"  and 
then  he  shook  hands  with  Doreen  rather  stiffly,  while  Althea 
spoke  to  Mollie  and  Noel. 

"  I  should  like  you  to  come  and  see  me,  my  dear,"  she  said 
to  the  delighted  girl.  "Would  next  Tuesday  suit  you?  Wave- 
ney shall  come  over  in  the  carriage  and  fetch  you.  And  per- 
haps your  brother  would  join  you,  and  take  you  back  in  the 
evening"  And  Mollie  accepted  this  invitation  with  great 
readiness. 

Everard,  who  had  overheard  this,  came  a  step  nearer. 

"I  must  take  this  opportunity  of  thanking  you  for  your 
kindness  to  my  dear  child,"  he  said,  with  strong  feeling  in  his 
voice.  "  It  was  hard  to  part  with  her,  but  you  make  her  so 
happy  that  Mollie  and  I  try  to  be  resigned  to  her  loss." 

"You  do  not  owe  me  any  thanks,"  returned  Althea,  her 
lips  paling  with  evident  emotion,  "for  we  love  her  for  her 
own  sake,  and  she  is  a  great  comfort  to  me.  Ah,  I  see  my 
cousin  is  beckoning  to  you,  so  I  will  wish  you  good-night." 

Everard  shook  hands  with  her  rather  absently ;  but  a  mo- 
ment later  he  came  back  to  her  side. 

"  Miss  Harford,  pardon  me,  but  did  you  say,  just  now,  that 
Ingram  was  your  cousin." 

Then  Althea  looked  a  trifle  confused.  How  incautious  she 
had  been ! 

i75 


Mollie's  Prince 

"Yes,"  she  returned,  guardedly,  "Moritz  is  certainly  our 
cousin — once  removed.  When  we  were  at  Kitlands,  his  father, 
Colonel  Ingram,  lived  abroad,  so  that  is  why  you  never  met 
him.  Did  you  not  ever  hear  us  speak  of  Moritz  and  Gwen- 
doline." 

"I  think  not — I  am  sure  not."  But  Everard's  eyes  were 
downcast  as  he  spoke.  Then,  without  another  word,  he  lifted 
his  hat  and  turned  away ;  the  mention  of  Kitlands  had  been 
like  a  stab.  Even  Althea  hardly  guessed  how  this  meeting 
had  tried  him,  and  how  cruelly  his  pride  had  suffered. 

Althea  was  very  silent  all  the  way  home.  She  was  tired, 
she  said,  and  Doreen  and  Waveney  must  discuss  the  play 
without  her ;  but  as  she  leant  back  in  her  corner  of  the  car- 
riage, very  little  of  the  conversation  reached  her  ears.  Ah, 
she  had  noted  all  the  changes  now.  The  shiny  dress-coat,  the 
lines,  the  slight  baldness,  had  all  been  apparent  under  the 
flaring  gaslights  in  the  lobby.  She  could  see  now  that  Ever- 
ard  was  aged  and  altered. 

The  spring  and  brightness  of  youth  had  gone,  and  care  and 
disappointment  and  ceaseless  drudgery  had  given  him  the 
stoop  of  age.  Already  his  shoulders  seemed  bowed,  as  though 
some  heavy  load  lay  on  them;  but  the  face,  grave  and  care- 
worn as  it  was,  was  the  face  of  her  old  lover.  The  features 
were  as  finely  chiselled  as  ever.  No  sorrow,  no  failure,  no 
wearing  sense  of  humiliation,  would  ever  rob  Everard  Ward 
of  his  man's  beauty,  though  perhaps  an  artist  would  no  longer 
desire  to  paint  him  as  Ithuriel. 

"I  am  glad  to  have  seen  him  again,"  thought  Althea;  but 
a  dry  sob  rose  in  her  throat  as  she  said  it.  How  coldly,  how 
gravely  he  had  accosted  her  !  He  had  expressed  no  pleasure 
in  meeting  his  old  friends,  had  asked  no  single  question  about 
their  welfare.  A  few  stiff  words  of  thanks  for  her  kindness 
to  Waveney,  but  nothing  more,  nothing  more;  and  Althea's 
eyes  grew  misty  with  unshed  tears  in  the  darkness. 

There  were  some  lines  by  Miss  Murdoch  that  Everard  had 
once  written  in  her  album.  She  had  read  them  so  often  that 
she  knew  them  by  heart ;  they  were  haunting  her  now. 

"  Forgotten !  no,  we  never  do  forget ; 
We  let  the  years  go ;  wash  them  clean  with  tears, 
Leave  them  to  bleach  out  in  the  open  day 
Or  lock  them  careful  by,  like  dead  friends'  clothes, 
Till  we  shall  dare  unfold  them  without  pain ; 
But  we  forget  not,  never  can  forget." 
176 


Across  the  Golf  Links 

"It  is  my  nature  to  be  faithful,"  Althea  had  once  touch- 
ingly  said  to  her  sister ;  and  to  forget  was  certainly  not  pos- 
sible to  her ! 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

ACROSS   THE   GOLF  LINKS. 

"  Learn  to  live,  and  live  to  learn, 
Ignorance  like  a  fire  burns, 
Little  tasks  make  large  returns." 

Bayard  Taylor. 

"  Sits  the  wind  in  that  quarter."  ^, 

Shakespeare. 

When  Waveney  went  home  the  following  Sunday,  she  car- 
ried with  her  a  choice  little  piece  of  information,  which  she 
retailed  with  much  gusto  at  the  tea-table. 

"Father,"  she  said,  in  a  mysterious  voice,  "I  have  found 
out  something  so  interesting  about  our  dear  little  Monsieur 
Blackie."  Then  Mollie,  who  was  pouring  out  the  tea,  paused 
in  her  task  to  listen.  "  He  is  a  relation  of  the  Misses  Har- 
fords — their  cousin  once  removed.  Miss  Althea  told  me  so. 
His  father,  Colonel  Ingram,  was  their  own  cousin." 

Mollie' s  face  wore  an  awed  expression;  she  was  evidently 
much  impressed.     But  Mr.  Ward  looked  a  little  perplexed. 

"Ingram,"  he  muttered,  "  I  do  not  remember  the  name, 
and  yet  I  thought  I  knew  all  their  relations." 

"No,  father,  dear,"  returned  Waveney,  gently.  "Miss 
Althea  said  you  had  never  seen  any  of  them — they  were  living 
abroad,  because  Mrs.  Ingram's  health  was  so  bad.  There  was 
only  one  daughter,  Gwendoline,  and  she  is  married  now,  but 
I  thought  you  and  Mollie  would  be  interested  to  know  that  he 
is  a  connection  of  the  dear  ladies  at  the  Red  House." 

Then  Noel  solemnly  rapped  on  the  table  with  his  knife. 

"  I  propose  Monsieur  Blackie' s  health,"  he  said,  grandly; 
"he  seems  a  respectable  sort  of  party,  and  I  am  proud  to 
have  made  his  acquaintance.  I  regret — I  may  say  I  deeply 
regret — that  I  once  made  the  unlucky  observation  that  his 
head  was  like  a  scrubbing  brush,  and  that  his  moustache  was 
of  the  Mephistophelian   pattern;   but  what   are  such  trifles 

i77 


Mollie's  Prince 

between  friends?"  And  then  his  voice  grew  thin  and  nasal. 
"  For  I  guess,  and  do  calculate,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  that 
the  party  in  question  is  boss  of  the  whole  show,  and  will  boom 
considerable."  And  then  he  sat  down  and  glared  at  Mollie 
through  his  pince-nez  ;  but  Mollie,  who  seemed  a  little  flurried 
and  excited,  said  nothing  at  all. 

Only,  as  she  and  Waveney  were  putting  on  their  hats  for 
church,  she  said,  in  rather  a  subdued,  quiet  little  voice, — 

"  Wave,  dear,  of  course  I  am  glad  about  Mr.  Ingram;  but 
it  does  not  make  any  real  difference,  does  it  ?  for  we  always 
knew  he  was  a  gentleman.  Father  thinks  he  must  be  rich,  he 
is  so  generous  with  his  money ;  bjut  he  will  never  be  too  grand 
to  be  our  friend,  will  he?"  Mollie's  voice  was  not  quite 
steady  when  she  said  this.  To  her  simplicity  it  seemed  a  sur- 
prising thing  that  their  homely,  kindly  Monsieur  Blackie 
should  have  such  grand  relations. 

Mollie  spent  a  very  happy  day  at  the  Red  House.  Althea, 
who  knew  what  girls  love  best,  told  Waveney  to  take  her  all 
over  the  house  and  show  her  everything,  and  left  them  alone 
together.  She  and  Doreen  had  an  engagement  for  the  after- 
noon, but  tea  was  served  up  as  usual  in  the  library. 

When  Althea  returned  she  found  them  nestled  together  in 
the  big  easy-chair  by  the  fire,  "  looking  like  a  couple  of 
babes  in  the  wood,"  she  said  to  Doreen  afterwards.  And  it 
was  so  pretty  and  effective  a  picture  that  she  forbade  them 
to  move ;  and  then  she  sat  down  and  talked  to  them  in  so 
sweet  and  friendly  a  way  that  Mollie's  soft  heart  was  soon 
won ;  and  when  Noel  arrived,  looking  a  little  shy  and  awk- 
wark — after  the  fashion  of  boys — he  found  them  all  talking 
merrily  together. 

Both  Althea  and  Doreen  were  charmed  with  Mollie.  Do- 
reen frankly  owned  to  her  sister  that  she  had  never  seen  so 
beautiful  a  face. 

"  If  it  were  not  for  her  lameness  she  would  be  perfect,"  she 
said,  regretfully  ;  and  Althea  agreed  to  this. 

"  It  is  a  pity,  of  course,"  she  returned,  gently  ;  "  but  there 
is  something  pathetic  in  it;  and  then  her  unconsciousness  is  so 
childlike.  She  is  a  sweet  creature,  and  I  love  her  already, 
but  not  so  much  as  I  love  my  little  Undine;"  for,  somehow, 
both  she  and  Doreen  often  called  her  by  this  name. 

Waveney  had  not  seen  her  little  friend  Betty  again,  but 
Althea  and  Doreen  were  constantly  at  the  house  in  High 
Street,  and  she  often  heard  them  mention  her  name.     Some- 

178 


Across  the  Golf  Links 

times  of  an  evening,  when  she  was  reading  to  herself,  she  heard 
them  talking  about  the  Chaytors;  and  as  they  never  dropped 
their  voices,  she  thought  it  no  harm  to  listen. 

"  Joa  is  a  different  woman,"  Doreen  once  said.  "  I  never 
saw  such  a  change  in  any  one.  I  always  knew  Tristram  was 
her  favourite.  Thorold  has  to  play  second  fiddle  now ;  I  am 
a  little  sorry  for  him  sometimes." 

"  Your  sorrow  is  wasted,  Dorrie,"  returned  her  sister,  with 
a  smile.  "  Thorold  is  too  big  and  strong  for  these  petty 
feelings ;  he  values  Joa's  peace  of  mind  far  too  much  to  dis- 
turb it  by  paltry  jealousy.  He  tells  me  that  for  the  present 
Tristram  and  the  child  will  continue  to  live  with  them,  until 
Tristram  can  earn  enough  to  keep  a  respectable  roof  over  his 
head.  It  was  very  lucky,  finding  him  that  berth,  and  it 
really  suits  him  very  well.  But  Joa  says  that  Betty  misses 
her  father  terribly ;  she  spends  half  her  time  at  the  window, 
watching  for  him." 

Betty's  name  was  perpetually  on  the  sisters'  lips ;  her  queer 
little  speeches,  her  odd  ways,  her  shrewdness  and  intelligence, 
and,  above  all,  her  warm,  childish  heart,  were  favourite  topics ; 
and  Bet's  last  was  a  standing  joke  with  them. 

Waveney  began  to  wish  to  see  her  again,  but  Miss  Althea 
never  sent  her  now  to  the  Chaytors.  Once  Joanna  called  and 
had  tea  at  the  Red  House,  but  Betty  was  not  with  her ;  the 
child  had  a  slight  cold,  she  said,  and  she  had  left  her  with 
Jemima.  But  throughout  the  visit  she  talked  of  little  else. 
Bet's  lessons,  her  story-books,  the  new  doll  that  Althea  had 
given  her,  and  the  basinette  that  she  was  trimming  for  a 
Christmas  present,  were  all  discussed  quite  seriously. 

Waveney  listened  eagerly  in  her  corner.  For  once  she 
found  Miss  Chaytor  interesting.  Her  voice  had  lost  its  fretful 
strain;  she  spoke  with  animation,  and  as  she  talked  there  was 
a  pretty  dimple  that  Waveney  had  never  noticed. 

"She  must  have  been  very  pretty  when  she  was  a  girl," 
thought  Waveney.  "She  is  good-looking  now,  and  her  face 
is  quite  pleasant  when  she  smiles."  And  then  again  she  heard 
Bet's  name,  and  composed  herself  to  listen. 

"The  love  of  that  mite  for  her  father  is  quite  wonderful," 
went  on  Joanna.  "  Even  Thorold  notices  it.  Quite  an.  hour 
before  Trist  is  due,  Bet  will  be  gluing  her  face  and  flattening 
her  nose  against  the  window ;  and  nothing  will  move  her. 
And  all  the  time  she  is  humming  to  herself,  like  a  little  bird 
— such  funny  little  scraps  of  tunes.      And  then,  when  he 

179 


Mollie's  Prince 

crosses  the  road,  she  is  out  of  the  room  like  a  dart.  And  to 
hear  all  her  old-fashioned  questions  to  him  in  the  passage ! 
Oh,  it  almost  makes  me  cry  to  listen  to  her  !  '  Are  you  very 
tired,  father  dear?  Have  you  had  a  hard  day?  Does  your 
head  ache  ?  and  are  your  feet  cold  ?  But  Aunt  Joa  has  made 
up  such  a  big  fire  !' — something  like  that  every  night." 

"  Bless  her  little  heart,"  observed  Doreen,  sympathetically; 
but  Althea  only  smiled. 

"And  then  she  brings  him  in  and  makes  such  a  fuss  over 
him,"  went  on  Joanna.  "  Just  as  though  he  were  some  feeble, 
gouty  old  gentleman.  But  Tristram  lets  her  do  it.  I  think 
he  likes  to  feel  her  little  fingers  busy  about  him.  She  fetches 
him  his  warm  slippers,  and  a  footstool,  or  a  screen  if  the  fire 
is  hot;  and  when  he  is  quite  ' comfy,'  as  she  calls  it,  she 
climbs  up  on  his  knee  and  gives  him  an  account  of  the  day." 

When  Joanna  had  taken  her  leave,  Althea  stood  looking 
into  the  fire  with  a  grave,  abstracted  look.  But  when  Doreen 
returned  to  the  room,  she  changed  her  attitude  slightly. 

"Joa  seems  very  happy,  does  she  not,  Dorrie?  She  has 
not  worn  so  bright  a  face  since  the  Old  Manor  House  days  !" 

"  No,  indeed  !  And  it  is  all  Bet's  influence.  She  is  like  a 
hen  with  one  chick ;  it  almost  makes  me  laugh  to  hear  her." 

"  I  felt  nearer  crying,  I  assure  you.  But,  Dorrie,  is  it  not 
beautiful  to  see  how  love  effaces  self.  '  And  a  little  child  shall 
lead  them;'  do  you  remember  those  words?  Already  Bet's 
tiny  fingers  have  smoothed  out  the  lines  on  Joa's  face,  and 
taught  her  to  smile  again." 

Waveney  only  saw  Mr.  Chaytor  on  Thursday  evenings  at 
the  Porch  House.  The  Shakespeare  readings  were  still  in  full 
swing,  and  she  still  sat  beside  Nora  Green  well.  She  some- 
times thought  that  Mr.  Chaytor  spoke  less  to  her  than  to  the 
other  girls,  though  he  was  always  careful  to  point  out  any 
fault  of  punctuation  ;  now  and  then,  when  she  was  a  little 
weary  of  following  the  text,  she  would  raise  her  eyes  from  her 
books ;  and  more  than  once  it  had  given  her  an  odd  shock  to 
find  at  that  very  moment  Mr.  Chaytor  was  quietly  regarding 
her;  then  some  sudden  shyness  made  her  eyelids  droop  again. 

Mr.  Chaytor  took  no  apparent  notice  of  her.  When  the 
reading  was  over  he  always  joined  Althea,  and  a  grave  bow, 
or  perhaps  a  pleasant  "  good-night,"  when  Waveney  left  the 
room,  was  all  that  passed  between  them. 

It  was  strange,  then,  that  as  Thorold  Chaytor  walked  down 
the  hill  in  the  wintry  darkness,  a  little  pale  face  and  a  pair  of 

180 


Across  the  Golf  Links 

dark,  spirituelle  eyes  should  invariably  haunt  him.  Never  in 
his  life  had  he  seen  such  eyes,  so  soft  and  deep  and  magnetic. 

And  then  that  babyish  crop  of  brown,  curly  hair — he  won- 
dered why  she  wore  it  so,  it  made  her  look  so  childish ;  but 
he  liked  it,  too — it  struck  him  that  she  was  lighter,  and  more 
sprightly  and  full  of  grace  and  lissomeness,  than  any  girl  he 
had  seen,  and  that  his  name  of  Undine  suited  her  down  to  the 
ground.  He  remembered  well  her  sister's  lovely  face,  but  of 
the  two  he  preferred  his  little  Undine. 

Once,  when  he  had  entered  the  Recreation  Hall,  and  the 
seat  beside  Nora  Greenwell  was  vacant,  a  troubled  look  came 
into  his  eyes ;  but  Waveney,  who  had  only  gone  across  to  the 
house  for  a  book  Althea  wanted,  re-entered  a  moment  later ; 
and  Thorold's  brow  cleared  like  magic  as  her  light,  springy 
step  passed  by  his  chair." 

"  1  hope  I  have  not  disturbed  you,"  she  said,  rather  timidly, 
as  he  rose  from  his  seat  and  wished  her  good-evening;  "but 
Miss  Harford  had  forgotten  her  Shakespeare." 

"  Not  at  all ;  but  we  will  begin  now."  Then,  as  Waveney 
opened  her  book,  she  wondered  at  Mr.  C  hay  tor's  grave, 
intent  look. 

About  ten  days  before  Christmas,  Waveney,  attended  by 
her  little  companions,  Fuss  and  Fury,  started  off  for  a  walk 
over  the  Common. 

It  was  one  of  those  ideal  afternoons  in  December,  when  all 
young  creatures  feel  it  is  a  joy  to  be  alive.  There  had  been 
a  heavy  frost  in  the  night,  and  the  bright,  wintry  sunshine  had 
not  yet  melted  it.  The  Frost  King  had  touched  the  saplings 
with  his  white  fingers,  and  even  the  bare  blackberry  bushes 
were  transformed  into  things  of  beauty.  The  vast  common 
seemed  to  glitter  with  whiteness  under  the  pink  glow  of  the 
winter's  sky. 

Waveney  had  turned  her  steps  towards  the  golf  links.  The 
wind  blew  more  bleakly  there,  but  the  wide  stretch  of  open 
common,  with  the  black  windmill  in  the  distance,  always  gave 
her  a  pleasant  sensation  of  freedom.  She  loved  to  watch  the 
sun  sinking  into  his  bed  of  bright-coloured  clouds.  But  when 
the  pink  glow  faded,  and  the  sky-line  became  a  cold,  steely 
blue,  she  shivered  a  little,  as  though  she  had  stayed  too  long 
at  some  pageant,  and  set  her  face  homewards. 

She  had  walked  too  far,  and  she  knew  the  darkness  would 
overtake  her  long  before  she  reached  the  Red  House,  and  then 
Miss  Althea  would  gently  admonish  her  for  her  imprudence. 


Mollie's  Prince 

The  little  dogs  were  tumbling  over  each  other,  and  wetting 
their  silky  coats  in  the  frosty  grass.  Waveney  called  them 
sharply  to  order.  If  no  one  were  in  sight  she  thought  she 
would  race  them  across  the  Common ;  but  the  next  moment 
she  heard  footsteps  behind  her. 

Involuntarily  she  quickened  her  own  steps.  It  was  rather  a 
lonely  part  of  the  Common.  There  was  no  one  to  be  seen, 
only  the  gaunt,  black  arms  of  the  windmill  seemed  to  stretch 
into  the  darkening  sky. 

The  rapid,  even  footsteps  behind  her  made  her  nervous,  and 
gave  her  the  feeling  of  being  in  a  nightmare.  If  she  could 
only  look  around  !  And  then,  to  her  intense  relief,  a  familiar 
voice  pronounced  her  name. 

"  Mr.  Chaytor  !"  she  gasped,  for  her  heart  was  beating  so 
fast  that  she  could  hardly  speak.  "  Oh,  how  glad  I  am  !  It 
was  very  foolish  of  me,  but  I  never  can  bear  to  be  followed  in 
a  lonely  place." 

"I  was  afraid  I  frightened  you?"  he  said,  coming  to  her 
side,  "but  you  were  walking  so  fast  that  I  found  it  difficult 
to  overtake  you.  Forgive  me,  I  know  I  have  no  right  to 
lecture,  but  at  this  hour  the  golf  links  is  far  too  lonely  a 
place  for  a  young  lady." 

"Yes,  you  are  right,"  returned  Waveney,  touched  by  this 
kind  interest  in  her  welfare,  "and  I  must  never  walk  here 
again  so  late.  But" — with  a  sigh  of  regret — "I  do  love  it 
so." 

"Do  you?"  returned  Mr.  Chaytor,  quickly.  "I  wonder 
why."  But  with  his  habitual  reserve  he  forbore  to  add  that 
it  was  his  favourite  walk. 

"It  is  so  wide,"  she  replied,  in  her  earnest  voice.  "All 
this  space  with  nothing  between  you  and  the  sky  makes  one 
feel  so  free  and  happy.  The  sunsets  are  always  so  beautiful 
here,  and  if  it  were  not  for  the  loneliness  I  should  love  to 
watch  the  darkness,  like  a  big  black  ogre,  swallow  up  all  the 
lovely  light." 

It  was  a  pity  Waveney  could  not  see  Mr.  Chaytor' s  smile. 

"Shall  we  stand  and  watch  it  now?"  he  said,  indulgently. 
"  You  have  a  safe  escort,  so  we  need  not  fear  your  ogre.  Only 
you  must  not  take  cold."  But  Waveney  only  thanked  him, 
and  said  that  she  was  late  already,  and  that  they  had  better  go. 

What  a  walk  that  was  !  and  how  Waveney  remembered  it 
afterwards  !  If  Mr.  Chaytor  had  laid  himself  out  to  please 
and  interest  her,  he  could  not  have  succeeded  better.    Books, 

182 


Across  the  Golf  Links 

pictures,  accounts  of  his  old  summer  wanderings  !  And  yet 
not  for  one  moment  did  Waveney  feel  that  he  was  talking 
down  to  her  level.  It  seemed  the  spontaneous  outpouring  of 
a  well-bred,  intellectual  man,  glad  to  impart  information  to  a 
congenial  companion.  But  if  Waveney  was  charmed  and  in- 
terested, certainly  Mr.  Chaytor  was  gratified.  Miss  Ward's 
bright  intelligence,  her  racy  and  picturesque  remarks,  her 
frankly  confessed  ignorance,  were  all  delightful  to  him ;  since 
the  old  Manor  days  he  had  seen  so  few  girls,  and  none  of 
them  had  attracted  him  in  the  least.  There  was  something 
unique,  out  of  the  common,  about  Miss  Ward;  he  felt 
vaguely  that  he  would  like  to  know  more  of  her. 

Perhaps  it  was  this  feeling  that  made  him  say  presently  "I 
am  afraid  you  have  forgotten  your  little  friend  Betty" — for  he 
knew  all  about  that  meeting  on  the  Embankment.  Betty  had 
given  him  a  most  realistic  and  graphic  account.  "  And  the 
little  lady  did  warm  my  hands  so,  Uncle  Theo," — and  here 
Bet  rubbed  away  at  his  hands  until  she  was  red  in  the  face — 
"and  all  the  time  she  did  talk,  and  her  great  big  eyes  were 
laughing  at  me." 

"Bet  has  a  good  memory  for  her  friends,  and  she  often 
talks  about  you !"  continued  Thorold.  "  She  is  a  fascinating 
little  person,  even  to  me,  though  I  do  not  profess  to  under- 
stand children.  She  is  full  of  surprises.  You  never  get  to 
the  end  of  her.     My  sister  fairly  worships  her  !" 

"Yes,  I  know,"  returned  Waveney,  softly;  "and  I  am  so 
very  glad — glad  for  your  sister,  I  mean.  I  should  love  to  see 
Betty  again.  I  am  not  like  you,  Mr.  Chaytor  j  I  have  been 
a  child-worshipper  all  my  life.  Oh,  I  know  they  are  naughty 
sometimes,  but  they  are  so  much  nearer  the  angels  than  we 
are,  and  they  are  not  such  a  long  way  off  from  heaven." 

"  '  Heaven  lies  about  us  in  our  infancy  !'  Are  you  a  student 
of  Wordsworth,  Miss  Ward?"     But  she  shook  her  head. 

"I  have  read  some  of  his  poems,"  she  returned,  modestly. 
"  But  I  am  afraid  I  know  very  little  good  poetry." 

"That  is  a  pity;  but  one  can  always  mend  a  fault.  At 
Easter  I  propose  having  a  course  of  reading  from  Tennyson 
and  Mrs.  Browning.     Ah,  here  we  are  at  the  Red  House." 

"You  will  come  in  and  have  a  cup  of  tea  after  your  long 
walk,"  observed  Waveney.  "Miss  Doreen  is  in  town,  but  I 
know  Miss  Althea  is  at  home."  Then,  after  a  moment's 
hesitation,  Mr.  Chaytor  assented  and  followed  her  into  the 
house. 

183 


Mollie's  Prince 

"My  dear  child,  how  late  you  are!"  observed  Althea, 
rather  anxiously,  as  Waveney  opened  the  library  door.  "I 
was  getting  nervous  about  you  !" 

"I  am  afraid  I  am  rather  late,"  confessed  the  girl ;  "  but, 
fortunately,  I  met  Mr.  Chaytor,  and  he  has  come  in  with  me 
for  some  tea."  Then  there  was  no  lack  of  welcome  in 
Althea's  face  and  voice.  Fresh  tea  was  ordered,  and  another 
supply  of  hot  buttered  scones,  a  big  pine-log  thrown  on  the 
fire ;  and  as  Thorold  sat  in  his  luxurious  chair,  with  a  glass 
screen  between  him  and  the  blaze,  with  his  little  walking 
companion  opposite  him,  and  Althea's  warm  smile  on  them 
both,  he  had  never  felt  himself  more  comfortable,  or  at  his  ease. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 
"lost,  stolen,  or  strayed!" 

"  Rainy  and  rough  sets  the  day — 
There's  a  heart  beating  for  somebody ; 

I  must  be  up  and  away, 
Somebody's  anxious  for  somebody." 

Swain. 

Mr.  Ingram  had  once  compared  the  English  climate  to  un- 
regenerated  womanhood,  and  had  declaimed  on  this  subject  in 
his  own  whimsical  fashion  at  Cleveland  Terrace,  much  to  the 
delight  of  his  young  friend  the  humourist. 

"It  is  womanhood  pure  and  simple,  and  unadulterated  by 
civilisation,"  he  continued,  blandly,  as  he  twisted  his  Mephis- 
tophelian  moustache.  "It  is  the  savage  mother,  and  no 
mistake,  with  all  her  crude  grand  humours.  Sometimes  she 
is  benevolent,  fairly  brimming  over  with  the  milk  of  loving 
kindness.  She  has  her  sportive  moods,  when  she  bubbles 
over  with  smiles  and  mirth — a  May  day,  for  example — when 
she  walks  through  the  land  as  meekly  as  a  garlanded  lamb." 

"  Hear,  hear  !"  observed  Noel,  sotto  voce ;  but  Mollie,  who 
was  deeply  impressed,  frowned  him  down. 

Mr.  Ingram  paused,  as  though  for  well-deserved  applause. 
He  felt  himself  becoming  eloquent,  so  he  took  up  his  parable 
again. 

184 


"Lost,  Stolen,  or  Strayed!" 

"  But  the  savage  mother  knows  how  to  sulk  and  frown,  and 
her  tear-storms  and  icy  moods  are  terribly  trying.  There  is 
no  coquetry  about  her  then ;  it  is  the  storm  and  stress  of  a 
great  passion. ' '  And  with  this  grand  peroration  Mr.  Ingram 
gave  his  moustache  a  final  twist,  and,  as  Noel  phrased  it, 
brought  down  the  house. 

Waveney  thought  of  Monsieur  Blackie's  parable — for  of 
course  it  had  been  duly  retailed  to  her  in  Mollie's  weekly 
budget — when  the  weather  changed  disastrously  before  Christ- 
mas. The  Frost  King  no  longer  touched  the  earth  with  his 
white  fingers;  the  wintry  sunshine  had  faded  from  the  land- 
scape ;  the  skies  were  grey  and  threatening,  and  the  raw  cold 
made  one's  flesh  creep.  ' '  Hardly  Christmas  weather, ' '  Althea 
observed,  regretfully,  as  she  looked  out  from  the  library  win- 
dow at  the  blackened  grass  and  sodden,  uninviting  paths. 
Only  under  the  wide  verandah  of  the  Porch  House  a  crowd 
of  birds  were  feeding.  Waveney  was,  as  usual,  watching 
them. 

"lam  afraid  it  will  rain  before  evening,"  returned  Doreen. 
"  The  barometer  is  going  down  fast.  I  do  so  dislike  a  wet 
Christmas. ' '     And  to  this  Althea  cordially  agreed. 

But  no  amount  of  impending  rain  could  damp  Waveney' s 
pleasurable  expectations,  for  she  had  a  delightful  programme 
before  her.  That  year  Christmas  day  fell  on  Saturday,  and 
as  Althea  and  Doreen  always  dined  with  Mrs.  Mainwaring, 
Althea  proposed  driving  her  to  Cleveland  Terrace. 

"Aunt  Sara  would  be  delighted  to  see  you,  dear!"  she 
said — "indeed,  you  were  included  in  the  invitation.  But  I 
told  her  that  you  would  far  rather  be  with  your  own  people." 

"Oh,  thank  you,  thank  you,"  returned  the  girl,  gratefully. 
But  her  joy  was  unbounded  when  Althea  suggested  that  she 
should  not  return  to  the  Red  House  until  Tuesday  afternoon. 
"I  shall  need  all  my  helpers  then,"  she  finished,  smiling; 
and  Waveney  understood  her.  The  Christmas  programme 
had  been  duly  unfolded  to  her.  There  was  to  be  a  grand  tea 
and  entertainment  for  Althea' s  girls  at  the  Porch  House,  a 
festive  evening  at  the  Home  for  Workers,  a  supper  for  the 
Dereham  cabmen,  and  another  for  the  costermongers ;  and  on 
Twelfth  Night  the  servants  at  the  Red  House  always  enter- 
tained their  relations  and  friends  in  the  Recreation  Hall. 
"  In  fact,"  as  Doreen  expressed  it,  "  no  one  would  have  time 
to  sit  down  comfortably  until  the  feast  of  Epiphany  had 
passed."     But,  though  Doreen  spoke  in  a  resigned  tone  of  a 

18S 


Mollie's  Prince 

weary  worker,  it  might  be  doubted  if  any  one  enjoyed  more 
thoroughly  the  bustle  and  preparation. 

The  day  before  Christmas  was  a  busy  one  for  all  the  in- 
mates of  the  Red  House.  Doreen  was  at  the  Home  all  day 
superintending  the  Christmas  decorations,  and  Althea  spent 
most  of  her  time  at  the  Porch  House,  where  a  band  of  volun- 
tary helpers  were  making  garlands  of  evergreens,  and  framing 
Christmas  mottoes  in  ivy  under  her  skilful  direction. 

Waveney  would  willingly  have  helped  in  the  work,  but 
Althea  had  other  employment  for  her.  Some  of  her  pen- 
sioners lived  on  the  other  side  of  the  river,  and  Waveney, 
who  often  acted  as  her  almoner,  went  off  early  in  the  after- 
noon to  order  parcels  of  groceries  and  other  good  things,  and 
to  carry  them  to  two  or  three  old  women  who  lived  in  the 
almshouses. 

The  old  women  were  garrulous,  and  detained  her  with 
accounts  of  their  various  ailments,  so  it  was  quite  dark  be- 
fore the  little  gate  of  the  almshouse  garden  closed  behind  her. 
For  some  time  she  had  heard  the  pattering  of  the  rain  against 
the  window-panes,  and  knew  that  she  would  have  a  long,  wet 
walk  home. 

"Aye,  but  it  is  a  wild  night,"  observed  Mrs.  Bates,  lugu- 
briously, as  she  stirred  her  bright  little  fire  afresh,  "and  it 
makes  one  shiver  to  one's  very  bones,  that  it  do." 

"But  your  warm  shawl  will  be  a  comfort,"  returned  Wa- 
veney, cheerfully.  "Well,  I  must  go  now.  'A  happy 
Christmas  to  you,'  Mrs.  Bates,  and  I  hope  your  rheumatism 
will  soon  be  better."  And  then  Waveney  unhasped  the 
upper  half  of  Widow  Bates's  door,  and  peered  out  into  the 
darkness. 

It  was  not  inviting,  certainly.  The  cold,  sleety  rain  was 
falling  in  torrents.  A  wild  night,  assuredly,  and  one  that 
meant  mischief.  But  Waveney  wore  a  stout  waterproof  cloak 
that  Althea  had  lent  to  her,  and  thought  she  would  be  proof 
against  any  amount  of  rain  or  sleet.  True,  her  umbrella  was 
just  a  little  slit,  but  she  would  soon  have  it  re-covered. 

A  narrow,  winding  passage,  resembling  a  cathedral  close, 
led  to  High  Street.  A  few  old-fashioned  houses  fronted  the 
garden  wall  of  the  Vicarage.  Here  it  was  so  dark  that  Wa- 
veney was  rather  startled  when  she  heard  a  child's  voice  close 
to  her  elbow. 

"  Oh,  please,  I  am  quite  lost,  and  will  you  take  me  home?" 

There  was  something  familiar  in  the  voice,  but  in  the  dark- 

1S6 


"Lost,  Stolen,  or  Strayed!" 

ness  it  was  impossible  to  see  the  child's  face ;  but  Waveney's 
ear  was  never  deaf  to  any  childish  appeal. 

"  Oh,  you  poor  little  thing,"  she  said,  kindly,  "where  do 
you  live,  and  what  is  your  name?" 

"Iain  dad's  little  Betty,"  returned  the  child.  She  spoke 
in  a  tired,  dreary  little  tone,  "and  I  live  across  the  water, 
past  the  church,  with  Uncle  Theo  and  Aunt  Joa."  Then,  in 
spite  of  the  wet,  Waveney  stooped  down  and  put  her  arm 
round  her." 

"Why,  it  is  my  little  friend,  Betty,"  she  said,  in  a  puzzled 
tone.  "Why  are  you  out  alone  this  dreadful  night?  Oh, 
you  poor  darling,  your  frock  and  jacket  are  quite  soaking. 
Come,  come,  we  must  go  home  as  fast  as  possible.  Give  me 
your  hand,  dear,  and  come  closer  to  me,  so  that  my  umbrella 
may  shelter  you." 

"Is  it  my  little  lady?"  asked  Betty,  in  a  perplexed  voice. 
"  She  did  speak  to  me  so  kindly  once  on  the  seat  by  the 
river;  but  I  have  never,  never  seen  her  again." 

"  But  we  shall  see  each  other  presently,  when  we  get  to  the 
shops,"  returned  Waveney,  cheerily.  "Betty,  darling,  tell 
me,  why  are  you  out  by  yourself?" 

"  I  wanted  to  meet  dad,"  returned  Betty,  with  a  little  sob. 
"Aunt  Joa  was  out,  and  I  was  so  lonely  all  by  myself,  and 
Jemima  was  busy  and  told  me  to  run  away,  and  I  was  aching 
dreadful  because  it  was  Christmas  Eve  and  dad  did  not  come ; 
and  I  thought"— and  Bet  sobbed  afresh—"  it  would  be  such 
fun  to  see  him  pass  me,  and  then  I  should  call  out  loud, 
'  Here's  Bet,  dad,  and  I  have  come  to  meet  you;'  but  there 
was  no  dad  at  all." 

"Yes;  and  then  you  missed  your  way?" 

"It  was  so  dark,"  returned  Bet,  plaintively,  "and  there 
were  trees,  and  I  fell  down  and  hurt  myself,  and  then  I  got 
frightened.     Are  you  frightened  in  the  dark,  too  ?' ' 

"No;  I  am  only  frightened  of  doing  wrong  things,  Betty 
dear.  I  am  afraid  you  have  been  very  naughty,  and  that 
poor  Aunt  Joa  will  be  anxious.  Can  you  walk  faster,  dar- 
ling?" But  Bet,  tired  and  miserable,  felt  as  though  her  poor 
little  legs  were  weighted  with  lead.  But  for  the  umbrella  Wa- 
veney would  have  carried  her ;  it  hurt  her  to  hear  the  child 
sobbing  to  herself  quietly  in  the  darkness.  It  was  a  cruel 
night  for  any  child  to  be  out.  Mr.  Ingram's  "savage 
mother"  was  in  her  fiercest  mood,  and  seemed  lashing  herself 
up  to  fresh  fury. 

187 


Mollie's  Prince 

There  was  scarcely  a  foot-passenger  to  be  seen  on  the 
bridge,  but  a  few  shivering  men  and  women  were  in  the  town 
making  their  Christmas  purchases. 

Bet  cheered  up  a  little  when  the  bridge  had  been  crossed. 
"We  shall  soon  be  there  now,"  she  sighed.  "Do  you  know 
my  home,  little  lady?" 

"Yes,  dear;  and  I  know  your  Aunt  Joa,  too,  and  your 
Uncle  Theo." 

"And  dad?" 

"No,  darling,  not  dad.  But  I  daresay  I  shall  know  him 
some  day.  See  how  pretty  all  those  lights  look  !  Yes,  this  is 
the  house, ' '  as  Betty  pulled  at  her  hand.  And  the  next  moment 
they  were  standing  on  the  doorstep. 

To  Waveney's  surprise,  Mr.  Chaytor  opened  the  door.  He 
regarded  them  with  amazement.  Waveney's  old  umbrella 
had  not  fulfilled  its  mission,  and  the  velvet  on  her  hat  was 
soaking,  and  so  was  her  hair.  But  she  was  nothing  to  Betty. 
In  the  lamplight  she  looked  the  most  abject  little  child  pos- 
sible. She  was  splashed  with  mud  from  head  to  foot,  and  her 
plait  of  fair  hair  was  so  wet  that  Mr.  Chaytor  hurriedly  with- 
drew his  hand. 

"  Why,  she  is  wet  through  !"  he  said,  in  a  shocked  voice. 
Then  Waveney  hurriedly  explained  matters. 

"I  am  afraid  Betty  has  been  rather  naughty,"  she  said, 
quickly.  "  She  went  out  by  herself  in  the  hope  of  meeting 
her  father.  And  then  she  lost  herself,  and  got  frightened. 
She  was  just  by  Aylmer's  Almshouses  when  she  spoke  to 
me. 

"Aylmer's  Almshouses,  across  the  river!"  he  exclaimed, 
quite  horrified.  "Why,  I  thought  she  was  with  my  sister  ! 
What  are  we  to  do,  Miss  Ward?"  looking  at  her  with  all  a 
man's  helplessness.  "Joanna  may  not  be  back  for  an  hour, 
and  Jemima  has  gone  to  the  General  Post-Office.  And  the 
child  is  dripping  with  wet  from  head  to  foot." 

Waveney  was  quite  equal  to  the  emergency. 

"  I  think,  if  you  will  allow  me,  I  had  better  take  her  up- 
stairs," she  returned,  quietly,  "and  get  off  her  wet  things. 
And  if  you  could  get  her  something  hot  to  drink — milk,  or 
tea — anything,  so  that  it  is  hot."  Then  Mr.  Chaytor  looked 
relieved. 

"  I  could  make  her  a  cup  of  tea,"  he  returned,  "if  you  are 
sure  that  will  do.     The  kettle  is  boiling  now." 

"Thank    you,   very  much,"    was    all   Waveney  answered. 

iSS 


"  Lost,  Stolen,  or   Strayed !" 

"Now,    Betty  dear,   will   you   show   me   the   way   to   your 
room  ?' ' 

"  I  sleep  in  Aunt  Joa's  room,"  replied  Betty,  making  brave 
efforts  to  restrain  her  tears.  Her  poor  little  lips  were  blue 
with  cold,  and  her  teeth  were  chattering.  And  her  ringers 
were  so  numb  that  they  could  not  turn  the  handle  of  the  door, 
and  Waveney  had  to  come  to  her  help. 

It  was  a  large,  pleasant  room,  furnished  simply,  and  a  bright 
fire  gave  it  an  air  of  comfort.  A  child's  cot  stood  beside  the 
bed.  There  were  some  fine  old  prints  on  the  walls,  and  the 
silver  and  ebony  brush  on  the  toilet-table,  and  the  quilted  silk 
eiderdown  on  her  bed,  spoke  of  better  days. 

Waveney  took  off  her  dripping  waterproof  and  hat,  and  then 
she  set  to  work,  and  in  five  minutes  Betty's  wet  things  lay  in 
a  heap  on  the  floor,  and  she  was  wrapped  up  in  her  aunt's 
warm  flannel  dressing-gown,  and  ensconced  in  the  big  easy- 
chair.  Then  Waveney  sat  down  on  the  rug  and  rubbed  the 
frozen  little  feet. 

"Betty,"  she  said,  coaxingly,  "I  do  wish  you  would  be  a 
good  child  and  go  straight  to  bed."  But  Betty  puckered  up 
her  face  at  this,  and  looked  so  miserable  that  Waveney  did  not 
dare  to  say  more. 

"It's  my  dad's  birthday,  and  Christmas  Eve,"  she  said, 
in  a  heart-broken  voice.  "  Dad  would  not  enjoy  his  tea  one 
bit  unless  I  buttered  his  toast  and  gave  him  his  two  lumps 
of  sugar." 

"  Well,  then,  you  must  tell  me  where  to  find  you  some 
dry,  clean  clothes,"  returned  Waveney,  with  a  disapproving 
shake  of  her  head.  But  just  then  there  was  a  tap  at  the 
door,  and  when  she  said,  "Come  in,"  to  her  surprise,  Mr. 
Chaytor  entered  with  two  large  cups  of  steaming  tea  in  his 
hands. 

"Jemima  is  still  playing  truant,"  he  said,  apologetically, 
"so  I  was  obliged  to  bring  the  tea  myself."  And  then  he 
set  down  the  cups  on  a  little  table,  piling  up  Joanna's  small 
possessions  in  a  most  ruthless  fashion,  to  make  room  for 
them. 

Perhaps  the  novelty  of  the  situation  bewildered  him,  or 
something  in  the  little  fireside  scene  appealed  to  him ;  for  he 
stood  beside  Betty's  chair  for  two  or  three  minutes  without 
speaking.  Betty,  in  her  scarlet  dressing-gown,  was  certainly  a 
most  picturesque-looking  little  object,  but  Thorold's  eyes 
rested  longer  on  the  girlish  figure  on  the  rug,  at  the  busy 

1S9 


Mollie's  Prince 

ministering  hands,  and  the  damp,  curly  hair,  still  glistening 
with  wet. 

"  Do  please  drink  your  tea,  before  it  cools,"  he  said,  plead- 
ingly. "When  Jemima  comes  back,  I  shall  send  her  up  to 
help  you,  and  clear  all  the  wet  things  away."  And  then  he 
went  downstairs,  and  set  on  the  kettle  again  to  boil ;  and  all 
the  while  the  memory  of  a  bare  little  foot  resting  on  a  girl's 
soft,  pink  palm,  haunted  him.  "It  is  the  eternal  mother- 
hood," he  said  to  himself,  "that  is  in  all  true  women.  No 
wonder  Bet  loves  her.  How  could  she  help  it  ? — how  could 
she  help  it?"  And  then  the  door-bell  rang,  and  Jemima 
entered  with  profuse  apologies  at  her  tardiness. 

She  was  sent  upstairs  with  a  supply  of  hot  water  and  towels, 
and  as  soon  as  Betty  had  finished  her  tea,  her  face  and  hands 
were  washed,  her  hair  dried  and  neatly  tied  with  a  ribbon. 
Then  she  was  dressed  in  clean,  fresh  garments. 

"I  have  got  my  best  frock  on,  and  I  feel  quite  nice,  and 
like  Christmas  Eve,"  exclaimed  Betty,  with  a  quaint  little 
caper.  "  Oh,  I  am  sure  dad  must  have  come,  and  Aunt  Joa, 
too.     Do  let  us  go  downstairs." 

"Let  me  wash  my  hands  first,  darling,"  pleaded  Waveney. 
"And  oh,  dear,  how  untidy  I  look!"  and  Betty  stood  by  the 
toilet-table  watching  with  critical  eyes  while  Waveney  tried  to 
bring  the  unruly  locks  into  order. 

"Aunt  Joa  has  such  long,  long  hair,"  she  observed. 
"When  she  sits  down  it  almost  touches  the  floor.  But  yours 
is  nice  baby  hair,  too — it  is  like  little  rings  that  have  come 
undone;  but  it  is  pretty,  don't  you  think  so?" — feeling 
that  Waveney  must  be  the  best  judge  of  such  a  personal 
matter.  Jemima  giggled  as  she  picked  up  the  little  muddy 
boots. 

"Law,  Miss  Bet,"  she  said,  reprovingly,  "how  you  do 
talk!  No  little  ladies  that  I  ever  knew  said  such  things. 
There's  your  pa,  he  is  downstairs  and  a- waiting  for  his  tea." 
But  Bet  heard  no  more. 

"Come,  come,"  she  said,  pulling  Waveney  by  the  dress. 
"Dad  is  downstairs,  and  the  curls  don't  matter  one  bit." 
Then  Waveney  reluctantly  followed  her ;  her  hat  and  gloves 
were  drying ;  she  could  not  possibly  put  them  on  for  another 
half-hour,  and  she  could  hardly  stay  ruminating  in  Miss 
Chay tor's  bed-room. 

Joanna  had  not  yet  returned ;  she  was  evidently  weather- 
bound at  some  friend's  house,  but  a  good-looking,  weather- 

190 


A  Wet  Night,  and  a  Difference  of  Opinion 

beaten  man,  in  a  rough  grey  coat,  stood  with  his  back  to  the 
fire.     Bet  ran  to  him  at  once. 

"Oh,  dad,  I  did  so  want  to  be  ready  for  you,  but  I  got  wet 
and  the  little  lady  was  helping  me  to  dress  up  again." 

"Yes,  I  know,  Bet;"  and  then  her  father  kissed  her  a  little 
gravely,  and  held  out  his  hand  to  Waveney. 

"lam  very  grateful  to  you,  Miss  Ward.  My  brother  has 
been  telling  me  of  your  kindness  to  my  little  girl ;  she  has 
been  a  very  naughty  child,  I  am  afraid. "  Then  Bet  looked  up 
in  his  face,  and  her  lip  quivered. 

"Was  it  really  bad  of  me  to  go  out  and  meet  you,  dad? — 
really  and  truly  ?' ' 

"  Yes,  darling,  really  and  truly."  And  then  Tristram  took 
her  on  his  knee.  "What  would  dad  have  done  without  his 
little  Betty? — and  she  might  have  been  lost  or  run  over." 

"Oh,  I  would  have  found  my  way  back,"  returned  Bet, 
with  a  wise  little  nod  of  her  head.  "  But  I  won't  never  do  it 
again."  And  then  her  little  arms  went  round  his  neck,  and 
she  rested  her  head  against  the  rough  grey  coat;  for  her 
childish  heart  was  full  to  the  brim.  "  Miss  Ward,"  observed 
Thorold,  in  rather  a  pleading  voice,  "as  my  sister  is  absent, 
may  I  ask  you  to  pour  out  the  tea. ' '  Then  Waveney,  blushing 
a  little  at  the  unexpected  request,  took  her  place  quietly  at  the 
tea-tray. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

A  WET   NIGHT,    AND   A  DIFFERENCE    OF   OPINION. 

"I  am  Sir  Oracle, 
And  when  I  ope  my  lips,  let  no  dog  bark !" 

Merchant  of  Venice. 

11  Beggar  I  am,  I  am  even  poor  in  thanks." 

Hamlet. 

What  a  strange  Christmas  Eve  it  was  !  Waveney  felt  as 
though  she  were  in  a  dream,  as  she  sat  there  demurely  pouring 
out  the  tea,  with  Betty  beside  her,  counting  the  lumps  of  sugar 
in  each  cup. 

"  Two  for  daddie,  and  one  big  one  for  Uncle  Theo?  Oh, 
that  is  not  big  enough,  is  it,  Uncle  Theo?  And  oh,  dear !" 
— in  a  reproachful  voice—"  you  did  put  in  the  milk  first." 

191 


Mollie's  Prince 


<( 


I  shall  know  better  next  time,"  returned  Waveney, 
smiling  ;  and  then  she  watched  Betty  spreading  her  father's 
toast  with  butter.  The  child's  concentrated  earnestness,  her 
absorbed  gravity,  amused  her ;  but  Tristram  evidently  took  it 
as  a  matter  of  course.  What  a  cosy  room  it  was !  Waveney 
thought.  The  crimson  curtains  were  drawn,  and  a  bright  fire 
burnt  in  both  the  fireplaces — an  unwonted  extravagance — in 
honour  of  Christmas  Eve ;  the  circle  of  easy-chairs  round  the 
farthest  fireplace  looked  snug  and  inviting. 

Thorold  did  not  talk  much  during  tea-time — he  left  the  con- 
versation principally  to  his  brother;  but  he  often  looked  at  the 
little  figure  that  occupied  Joanna's  place.  His  fastidious  eyes 
noticed  the  neat,  dainty  movements  and  the  changes  of  ex- 
pression on  the  bright,  speaking  face,  and  the  lovely  dimple 
when  Waveney  smiled  or  laughed.  A  man  could  hardly  be 
dull  with  such  a  companion,  he  thought;  and  then,  at  some 
sudden  suggestion,  some  overwhelming  possibility,  a  dull  flush 
rose  to  his  temples,  and  he  went  to  the  window  to  inspect  the 
weather. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  it  is  still  raining,  Miss  Ward,"  he 
said,  quietly,  "  and  I  am  afraid  we  are  in  for  a  wet  night;  but 
I  will  get  you  a  cab " 

1 '  A  cab  ! ' '  interrupted  Waveney,  in  a  dismayed  tone.  ' '  Oh, 
no,  thank  you,  Mr.  Chaytor,  you  must  do  nothing  of  the  kind. 
I  am  as  strong  as  a  lion,  and  I  never  take  cold — at  least,  scarcely 
ever.     And  what  does  a  little  rain  matter?" 

"You  are  a  Stoic,"  he  returned,  somewhat  amused  at  this; 
but  she  seemed  so  horrified  at  his  suggestion  that  he  said  no 
more — being  a  man  of  deeds,  not  words.  So  when  Waveney 
took  possession  of  an  easy-chair,  and  Betty  brought  her  her 
baby  doll  to  admire,  she  felt  comfortably  convinced  that  she 
would  be  allowed  her  own  way;  but  she  had  reckoned  with- 
out her  host. 

Waveney  chatted  happily  to  the  child,  while  Tristram 
watched  them  with  the  lazy  enjoyment  of  a  tired  man ;  and 
she  never  wondered  why  Mr.  Chaytor  was  absent  so  long  until 
he  re-entered  the  room  in  his  ulster. 

"  The  cab  is  here,  Miss  Ward,"  he  said,  coolly  ;  "  and  you 
will  find  your  things  in  my  sister's  room.  Jemima  says  they 
are  quite  dry." 

Then  Waveney  only  flashed  a  look  of  reproach  at  him,  and 
walked  meekly  out  of  the  room. 

Of  course  he  was  right,  she  knew  that,  and  that  the  idea  of 

192 


A  Wet  Night,  and  a  Difference  of  Opinion 

the  long,  lonely  walk,  in  the  pelting  rain,  was  absurd  in  the 
highest  degree.  But  as  Waveney  went  up-stairs  she  was  not 
sure  that  she  liked  the  quiet  way  in  which  Mr.  Chaytor  asserted 
his  will ;  it  made  her  feel  like  a  little  school-girl  in  the  pres- 
ence of  a  master.  He  had  not  taken  the  trouble  to  argue  the 
point  with  her,  or  to  prove  to  her  that  she  had  made  a  mis- 
take, but  had  just  gone  out  and  brought  the  cab;  and  so 
Waveney,  who,  in  spite  of  her  sweet  temper,  was  a  trifle  self- 
willed  and  obstinate,  felt  secretly  aggrieved,  and  even  offended. 
And  she  entered  the  parlour  with  so  dignified  an  air  that  Thor- 
old,  who  could  read  her  face,  smiled  to  himself. 

Betty  ran  to  her  with  a  sorrowful  exclamation. 

"  Oh,  must  you  go,  Wavie,  dear?"  she  said,  dubiously. 

"Why,  Bet,"  observed  her  uncle,  rather  shocked  at  this 
familiarity,  "aren't  you  taking  rather  a  liberty  with  your  kind 
friend?" 

"She  told  me  her  name,"  returned  Bet,  in  eager  defence, 
"and  she  did  say  that  I  might  call  her  what  I  liked.  I  know 
it  was  Wavie,  or  something  like  it." 

"Very  like  it,  indeed,  darling,"  replied  Waveney,  kneeling 
down  and  putting  her  arms  round  the  child ;  "  and  it  is  pret- 
tier than  Waveney,  and  I  shall  always  want  you  to  call  me  so. 
Now  good-night,  my  little  Betty. ' '  And  then,  as  Betty  clung 
to  her  and  kissed  her,  Thorold  looked  at  them  rather  gravely. 

"I  am  ready  now,"  observed  Waveney,  resuming  her  stiff 
manner.  "  I  suppose  it  will  be  no  use  telling  you,  Mr.  Chay- 
tor, that  I  can  very  well  go  by  myself. ' ' 

"No,"  he  returned,  looking  at  her  with  very  keen,  bright 
eyes.  "  I  am  afraid  your  words  would  be  wasted.  You  see, 
Miss  Ward,  I  have  a  conscience,  and  my  conscience  tells  me 
that  I  ought  to  see  you  safe  in  Miss  Harford's  hands."  But  to 
this  Waveney  vouchsafed  no  reply.  She  jumped  into  the  cab 
and  settled  herself  in  her  corner,  and  left  Mr.  Chaytor  to  dis- 
pose of  himself  as  he  would ;  and  when  he  placed  himself 
opposite  to  her,  she  only  looked  out  intently  at  the  lighted 
shops. 

Even  the  rain  could  not  quite  damp  the  festivity.  The 
snow-white  turkeys  and  geese,  garlanded  with  holly,  made  a 
brave  show;  and  the  butcher's  shop  was  full  of  shabby  cus- 
tomers. Waveney' s  soft  heart  yearned  as  usual  over  the  babies 
and  little  children.  Then  she  turned  her  head,  and  met  Mr. 
Chaytor' s  amused  glance — it  was  so  kind,  it  spoke  of  such 
complete  understanding,  that  she  felt  a  little  ashamed  of  herself. 
13  J93 


Mollie's  Prince 

"  Miss  Ward,  have  you  forgiven  me  yet  for  doing  my  duty 
like  a  man?" 

Waveney  struggled  with  a  smile,  but  she  had  not  quite  re- 
covered herself,  so  she  said,  rather  coldly, — 

1 '  I  don' t  see  that  my  forgiveness  matters  a  bit ! " 

"Is  not  that  rather  crushing?"  he  returned.  "Especially 
as  it  matters  very  much  to  me.  I  wish  you  would  be  friendly 
enough  to  tell  me  the  real  cause  of  offence.  You  could  not 
reasonably  expect  that  I  should  let  you  swim  through  this' ' — 
the  rain  beating  an  accompaniment  to  his  words.  "  I  would 
not  have  let  my  sister  do  it" — his  voice  softening  into  involun- 
tary tenderness.  Never  had  she  seemed  so  lovable  to  him, 
even  though  her  childish  waywardness  was  making  him  smile. 

"  It  was  not  the  cab  I  minded  so  much,"  stammered  Wave- 
ney, tingling  with  shame  and  confusion  to  her  finger-ends, 
and  glad  of  the  darkness  that  hid  her  hot  cheeks;  "only 
you  did  it  without  telling  me" — Waveney  did  not  dare  say 
what  she  really  thought :  that  he  had  managed  her  like  a  child 
— "and  it  makes  me  unhappy,  it  does  indeed,  Mr.  Chaytor, 
to  bring  you  out  this  dreadful  night,  when  you  are  so  tired 
and  have  been  hard  at  work  all  day." 

"  I  never  felt  less  tired  in  my  life  !  And  you  are  giving  me 
great  pleasure,  in  allowing  me  to  perform  this  little  service  for 
you."  Then  Waveney  blushed  again,  but  this  time  for  pleas- 
ure, for  Mr.  Chaytor' s  voice  convinced  her  that  he  was  speak- 
ing the  truth,  the  whole  truth  and  nothing  but  the  truth. 

"  Now  we  have  had  our  first  and  last  little  difference,"  he 
went  on,  cheerfully,  "and  shall  be  better  friends  than  ever." 
And  there  was  no  outward  dissent  to  this ;  only  a  mutinous 
sparkle  in  Waveney' s  dark  eyes  showed  a  silent  protest. 

"Would  it  be  their  last  difference?"  she  thought;  for  she 
was  a  shrewd,  sensible  little  woman,  and  had  her  own  opin- 
ions on  most  things;  but  at  least  she  had  the  grace  and 
honesty  to  own  that  on  this  occasion  she  had  been  in  the 
wrong. 

What  a  short  drive  it  was,  after  all !  Almost  before  Wave- 
ney had  seen  that  they  were  at  the  top  of  the  hill  they  were 
driving  through  the  lodge  gates. 

Althea  came  out  into  the  hall  to  meet  them  in  her  heliotrope 
velveteen  and  lace  ruff.  She  looked  more  like  Queen  Bess 
than  ever. 

"  My  dear  child,  I  have  been  so  anxious  about  you  !  But 
of  course  I  hoped  you  had  taken  shelter.      Thank  you  for 

194 


A  Wet  Night,  and  a  Difference  of  Opinion 

bringing  her  home,  Thorold.  Will  you  come  in,  or  is  your 
cab  waiting  ?  We  have  our  usual  mulled  wine  and  Christmas 
cake,  which  you  ought  to  taste  for  the  sake  of  the  old  lang  syne. ' ' 

"  May  I  give  the  cabman  some?  Poor  old  fellow,  he  is  so 
cold  !"  But  it  was  a  mere  form  of  words.  He  need  not  have 
asked  the  question.  On  Christmas  Eve  not  an  errand  boy  or 
a  carol  singer  left  the  Red  House  without  being  regaled  with 
Christmas  fare — "cakes and  ale,"  as  Altheaand  Doreen called  it. 

Thorold  carried  out  a  great  mug  of  hot  spiced  wine  and  a 
mighty  wedge  of  cake  to  the  driver ;  then  he  took  his  by  the 
hall  fire,  as  he  said  he  was  too  wet  and  dirty  for  the  library. 
Waveney  found  him  there  alone  when  she  came  downstairs. 
Fresh  pensioners  were  claiming  the  sisters'  attention.  He 
looked  warmed  and  refreshed,  and  recommended  her  to  follow 
his  example. 

"See  what  a  treat  you  have  given  me,  Miss  Ward!"  he 
said,  smiling.  "There  is  no  mulled  wine  like  this  anywhere. 
The  flavour  brings  back  my  dear  old  home  to  me." 

'•  Do  you  mean  the  old  Manor  House?"  she  asked,  softly. 

"Yes,"  he  returned,  dreamily.  "It  is  the  season  for  old 
memories,  is  it  not  ?  At  Christmas  and  New  Year's  Day  the 
ghosts  of  the  past  stalk  out  of  their  dim  recesses ;  but  they 
are  dearly  loved  visitants,  and  we  do  not  fear  them.  Do  you 
know  what  the  Germans  call  '  heimweh  f  Have  you  ever 
experienced  it?" 

But  he  need  not  have  asked,  for  at  the  unexpected  question 
the  girl's  head  drooped  to  hide  her  tears.  How  could  he 
know,  how  could  any  one  know,  how  that  brave  young  heart 
ached  ceaselessly  for  her  home  and  Mollie.  Mr.  Chaytor  was 
quite  shocked  at  himself. 

"  Dear  Miss  Ward,"  he  said,  gently,  "  you  must  forgive  me 
again,  you  see;  but  I  spoke  without  thinking." 

Then  Waveney  shook  her  head  and  looked  at  him  with  a 
touching  little  smile. 

"You  have  done  nothing — it  is  only  I  who  am  silly  to- 
night ;  but  oh  !  I  am  always  so  wanting  father  and  Mollie. 
But  I  shall  see  them  to-morrow.  Mr.  Chaytor,  I  must  go 
now ;  but  thank  you  so  much  for  all  your  kindness  and  for 
bringing  me  home.  I  am  not  ungrateful,  really."  And 
Waveney' s  wet  eyes  looked  so  sad  and  beautiful  as  she  raised 
them  to  his  face  that  Mr.  Chaytor  thought  of  them  all  through 
his  drive  home. 

When  Waveney  woke  the  next  morning  she  found  the  rain 

i95 


Mollie's  Prince 

had  ceased  ;  but  it  was  still  too  dark  to  discover  anything  fur- 
ther. They  drove  to  church  for  the  early  service,  and  the 
warm,  lighted  church,  with  its  Christmas  decorations,  and 
crowded  with  worshippers,  reminded  her  of  the  dearly-loved 
church  where  she  and  Mollie  had  knelt  side  by  side  for  so 
many  years. 

Breakfast  was  ready  for  them  on  their  return,  and  they  had 
the  usual  noisy  welcome  from  Fuss  and  Fury.  But  Waveney 
was  a  little  perplexed  when  Althea  told  her,  with  a  smile,  that 
she  must  eat  her  breakfast  as  quickly  as  possible,  as  they  had 
plenty  of  business  before  them.  "  It  is  a  comfort  the  rain  has 
stopped,"  she  continued,  with  an  irrepressible  shiver,  "  for  we 
cannot  possibly  have  the  carriage  out  again,  until  we  drive  to 
town.  How  thankful  I  am  that  Aunt  Sara  gave  me  that  fur- 
lined  cloak  last  Christmas!"  she  went  on,  addressing  her 
sister.  "It  keeps  out  the  cold  as  nothing  else  does.  I  feel 
as  cosy  as  that  robin  does  in  his  red  waistcoat." 

Waveney  ate  her  breakfast  a  little  silently  ;  she  was  wonder- 
ing why  there  was  no  greeting  word  from  home.  Perhaps  the 
postman  had  not  come. 

"Have  you  finished,  Waveney?"  asked  Doreen,  a  little 
abruptly.  "  By-and-bye,  if  you  have,  we  may  as  well  go  to 
the  library,  or  we  shall  never  get  our  parcels  undone  before  it 
is  time  to  start  for  church." 

Waveney  opened  her  eyes  rather  widely  at  this ;  but  when 
she  entered  the  room,  she  stared  in  amazement.  The  centre- 
table  seemed  a  mass  of  plants,  and  brown  paper  parcels  of 
every  size  and  description  were  heaped  on  every  available  space. 

To  her  surprise  Althea  quietly  drew  back  the  curtain  of 
Cosy  Nook,  and  motioned  her  to  enter. 

"  You  can  amuse  yourself  there  for  a  little  while,"  she  said, 
brightly,  "while  Doreen  and  I  open  our  parcels.  You  will 
see  Aunt  Sara  has  not  forgotten  you."  And  then,  with  a 
kindly  nod,  she  withdrew. 

It  was  a  pity  that  no  interested  observer  saw  the  girl's  start 
and  blush  of  delight,  for  there,  just  opposite  her,  was  a  dress, 
flung  across  a  chair,  and  a  paper  pinned  on  one  sleeve. 
"Waveney,  from  her  loving  friend,  Althea  Harford." 

Althea  had  pleased  her  own  taste  in  the  choice  of  that  frock. 
It  was  a  dark  sapphire  blue  velveteen  of  the  same  shade  as  the 
cloak,  and  was  perfectly  plain,  except  for  a  dainty  little  ruff 
of  yellowish  lace  ;  and  nothing  could  have  suited  Waveney's 
pale,  little  face  better. 

196 


A  Wet  Night,  and  a  Difference  of  Opinion 

She  stood  for  a  long  time  with  folded  hands,  in  mute  ad- 
miration of  that  marvellous  garment ;  she  knew  now  why  her 
white  dress  had  disappeared  so  mysteriously  for  a  day  or  two. 
It  wanted  doing  up,  Nurse  Marks  told  her.  But  when  it  had 
been  returned,  Waveney  could  see  very  little  difference.  The 
poor,  little  frock  looked  sadly  frayed  and  shabby ;  no  wonder 
Miss  Althea  thought  she  needed  a  new  one.  But  the  kindness 
and  the  generosity  of  the  gift  were  beyond  everything,  and 
there  was  a  lump  in  Waveney' s  throat  as  her  fingers  touched 
the  soft  pile  of  the  velveteen. 

Doreen's  present  was  a  box  of  handkerchiefs,  with  Wave- 
ney's  initials  prettily  embroidered  by  one  of  the  workers  at 
the  Home,  and  Mrs.  Mainwaring,  with  characteristic  kindness 
and  good  taste,  had  contributed  a  beautiful  little  muff. 

But  Waveney' s  pleasure  reached  its  climax  when  her  eyes 
discovered  a  neat,  little  umbrella,  with  a  note  from  Mollie  at- 
tached to  the  ivory  handle.  "Please  do  not  think  me  ex- 
travagant, darling,"  it  began,  "because  I  really  can  afford  to 
give  myself  a  big  treat  this  year.  The  menu-cards  have  sold 
splendidly.  Mr.  Ingram  says  his  sister  has  given  him  a  com- 
mission for  three  more  sets,  so  I  shall  be  quite  rich.  I  have 
bought  myself  a  new  jacket  and  hat,  and  father  says  that  he 
certainly  means  to  get  me  a  tweed  dress  for  Christmas,  so  I 
shall  be  as  smart  as  you.  He  is  only  sending  you  gloves,  but 
I  know  you  will  like  them. 

"  And  I  have  bought  the  umbrella  out  of  my  own  earnings. 
You  cannot  think  how  proud  I  am  of  that !  The  poor  old 
Gamp  you  were  using  would  not  keep  a  sparrow  dry,  it  was  so 
worn  out,  and  I  could  not  bear  to  think  of  you  getting  wet 
through.  A  happy  Christmas  to  you,  my  darling !  and  no 
more  at  present  from  your  loving  Mollie." 

Noel's  present  was  wrapped  up  with  the  gloves;  it  was  only 
a  small  manuscript  book,  neatly  bound  with  blue  ribbon,  and 
in  Noel's  flourishing  school-boy  hand  was  written, — 

"The  further  adventures  of  Monsieur  Blackie,  by  a 
Humourist,  and  dedicated  with  the  author's  compliments 
to  old  Storm-and-Stress." 

Ten  minutes  later,  when  Althea  peeped  through  the  curtain, 
she  found  Waveney  still  hugging  her  umbrella,  while  she  looked 
over  the  pen-and-ink  sketches  with  eyes  twinkling  with  amuse- 
ment. "Do  you  think  it  will  fit?"  she  asked,  softly.  Then 
the  girl  started  to  her  feet,  her  face  crimson  with  emotion. 

"  Oh,  Miss  Althea,  how  am  I  to  thank  you  ?"  she  exclaimed. 

197 


Mollie's  Prince 

"You  are  too  kind,  oh,  far  too  kind  to  me.'  "  And  then, 
almost  tearfully,  "  I  have  nothing  to  give  you  in  return." 

"  Nothing  !  I  thought  I  saw  a  pretty  penwiper  among  my 
parcels,  but  I  suppose  I  must  have  dreamt  it ;  and  I  had  an 
impression  that  Doreen  showed  me  a  needle-book." 

"  Oh,  but  they  were  only  trifles." 

"  My  dear,  no  gift,  however  small,  from  one  who  loves  us, 
is  a  trifle,  and  I  shall  value  your  present.  We  have  all  we 
want,  dear  child,  and  the  kindness  of  our  friends  almost  em- 
barrasses us.  When  you  come  back  I  must  show  you  the 
beautiful  things  some  of  the  girls  have  made  for  me,  but 
there  is  no  time  to  look  at  them  now,  for  the  church-bells 
are  ringing."  And  then,  as  they  went  up-stairs,  Waveney 
laden  with  her  treasures,  the  crowning  touch  was  put  to  her 
day's  pleasure.  "I  am  so  glad  you  like  your  frock,  dear," 
remarked  Althea  ;  "  it  is  certainly  seasonable  for  winter  even- 
ings. You  will  find  a  parcel  in  your  room  directed  to  Mollie ; 
it  contains  a  similar  dress  for  her."  And  the  flash  of  joy  in 
Waveney' s  eyes  certainly  repaid  her. 


CHAPTER   XXVI. 

A  WHITE  VELLUM   POCKET-BOOK. 
11  And  there's  pansies,  that's  for  thoughts." — Hamlet, 

"  There'll  be  a  comforting  fire ; 
There'll  be  a  welcome  for  somebody; 

One  in  her  neatest  attire, 
Will  look  to  the  table  for  somebody." 

Swain. 

It  was  in  the  gathering  dusk  of  the  afternoon  when  Wave- 
ney found  herself  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Cleveland  Ter- 
race. They  had  driven  fast,  and  yet  to  the  eager  girl  the 
way  had  seemed  strangely  long.  As  they  approached  the 
house,  Althea  shivered  a  little,  as  though  her  fur-lined  cloak 
had  suddenly  lost  its  robin-like  cosiness.  The  steely  winter's 
sky,  the  raw  dampness  of  the  atmosphere,  the  gloom  of  the 
half  light,  which  made  all  objects  appear  out  of  due  propor- 

198 


A  White  Vellum  Pocket-Book 

tion,   and  gave   them  a  hazy  indistinctness,   made  her  feel 
depressed  and  uncomfortable. 

As  the  carriage  stopped,  the  door  was  quickly  opened, 
though  not  by  the  footman,  and  a  familiar  voice  in  the  dark- 
ness said, — 

"  Thank  you,  Miss  Harford,  a  thousand  times,  for  bringing 
the  child  home.  Waveney,  my  darling,  '  a  happy  Christmas 
to  you ! '  Run  out  of  the  cold,  dear,  it  is  beginning  to 
snow."     But  Waveney  kept  her  place. 

"I  must  say  good-night  first,  father.  Were  you  watching 
for  me  ?  Do  you  know  you  have  not  wished  the  dear  ladies 
a  happy  Christmas  yet?"  Then  Althea' s  gentle,  melancholy 
voice  interrupted  her. 

"  Dear  child,  there  was  no  need  to  remind  your  father  of 
an  idle  form.  I  am  quite  sure  we  have  his  good  wishes  for 
the  sake  of  the  auld  lang  syne.  You  are  bareheaded,  Mr. 
Ward.  Do  please  go  in;"  and  her  slim,  gloved  hand  was 
stretched  out  to  him. 

Everard  bowed  over  it  as  he  pressed  it  warmly. 

"You  will  always  have  my  best  wishes,"  he  said,  very 
gravely.  "  Good-night,  Miss  Harford,  good-night,  and  thank 
you,  Miss  Althea. ' '  And  then  he  swung  open  the  gate  and 
went  up  the  little  courtyard,  with  Waveney  clinging  to  his  arm. 

Althea  looked  after  them  with  wistful  eyes.  What  a  stream 
of  light  met  them  !  What  did  the  narrow  passage  and  steep, 
ladder-like  stairs  matter,  or  the  frayed  and  dingy  druggetting, 
when  that  starlight  glow  of  home  radiance  beamed  so  brightly. 
And  indeed,  when  Waveney  felt  Mollie's  arms  round  her  neck, 
and  her  warm  cheek  pressed  against  hers,  her  heart  was  com- 
forted and  at  rest. 

"  Where  are  you  taking  me,  sweetheart  ?"  she  asked,  softly, 
as  Mollie  dragged  her  past  the  studio  door. 

"You  must  come  upstairs  and  take  off  your  things  first," 
returned  Mollie,  panting  from  her  exertions.  "  We  shall  have 
tea  in  the  dining-room  to-night,  because  there  are  muffins  and 
crumpets,  and  I  must  see  to  them."  Then  Mollie  threw  open 
the  bedroom  door,  and  stood  still  in  silent  enjoyment  to  see 
Waveney' s  start  of  surprise  at  the  sight  of  a  splendid  fire 
burning  in  the  grate. 

"Oh,  Mollie!"  she  said,  quite  shocked  at  this  extrava- 
gance, "  have  we  ever  had  a  fire  here  before,  except  when  we 
had  the  measles  ?"    Then  Mollie  laughed  and  shook  her  head. 

"  I  daresay  not,  but  I  was  not  going  to  let  you  sleep  in  this 

199 


Mollie's  Prince 

cold  vault  for  three  nights  when  you  have  been  used  to  a 
lovely  fire  in  your  Pansy  Room.  Why,  Wave,  you  absurd 
child,  how  grave  you  look  !  Father  won't  have  to  pay  one 
penny  for  it.  I  put  two  shillings  into  the  housekeeping  purse 
out  of  my  own  money,  and  we  will  just  have  a  beautiful  fire 
every  night;  and  won't  we  enjoy  ourselves!" 

"It  feels  lovely,"  returned  Waveney,  kneeling  down  on 
the  rug,  for  she  was  chilly  from  the  long  drive.  "  No,  don't 
light  the  gas,  dear,  the  firelight  is  so  pretty."  Then  Mollie 
put  down  the  match-box  reluctantly. 

"I  wanted  to  show  you  something,"  she  returned,  in  a 
low  voice;  "but  perhaps  if  you  make  a  blaze  you  will  be 
able  to  see  it.  Oh,  what  is  that?"  as  Waveney  mutely  held 
out  a  long  brown  paper  parcel.  "Is  that  another  present? 
No,  please  don't  open  it;  you  must  look  at  this  one  first." 
And  then  Mollie,  with  outward  gravity,  and  much  inward 
excitement,  laid  a  beautiful  Russian  leather  writing-case  on 
the  rug  for  Waveney' s  inspection. 

Never  had  Waveney  seen  such  a  case,  so  dainty,  so  complete, 
so  perfectly  finished.  The  initials  "  M.  W."  were  on  every- 
thing— the  silver  paper-knife  and  penholders,  and  on  the  tiny 
card-case  and  inkstand ;  and  every  card  and  sheet  of  paper  was 
stamped  with  Mollie 's  address. 

Waveney  was  silent  from  excess  of  admiration,  and  also 
from  a  strong  feeling  of  emotion.  Only  a  lover,  she  thought, 
could  have  planned  all  those  pretty  finishes  and  details. 
Surely,  surely  Mollie' s  eyes  must  be  opened  now  ! 

"Mollie,  dear,  I  really  don't  know  what  to  say,"  she 
answered,  at  last,  when  the  silence  became  embarrassing. 
"It  is  really  too  beautiful  for  any  one  but  Cinderella." 
Then  a  little  conscious  smile  came  to  Mollie' s  lips,  and  her 
cheeks  wore  their  wild-rose  flush;  and  yes,  certainly,  there 
was  a  new  wistfulness  in  her  eyes. 

"  Was  it  not  splendid  of  Mr.  Ingram  !"  she  said;  but  her 
voice  was  not  quite  steady.  "It  was  so  kind  that  I  could 
not  help  crying  a  little,  and  then  father  laughed  at  me.  I 
can't  understand  father,  Wave.  When  I  asked  him  if  I 
ought  to  write  and  thank  Mr.  Ingram,  he  got  quite  red,  and 
said  that  I  must  know  my  own  feelings  best.  It  was  so  odd 
of  father  to  say  that. ' ' 

"  Did  Mr.  Ingram  write  to  you,  Mollie?" 

"  No,"  returned  Mollie,  with  her  cheeks  a  still  deeper  rose. 
"There  was  only  a  slip  of  paper,  with  Monsieur  Blackie's 


A  White  Vellum  Pocket-Book 

good  wishes.  But  Wave,  he  is  not  coming  back  for  a  long 
time — he  told  me  so.  He  said  society  had  claims  on  him, 
and  that  he  had  a  house-party  impending,  and  other  engage- 
ments; but  I  did  not  like  to  question  him." 

"Well,  then,  I  suppose  you  had  better  write — only  just  a 
short  note,  Mollie;  and  pray,  pray  do  not  be  too  grateful. 
If  he  gives  you  presents,  it  is  to  please  himself  as  well  as  you. 
But  you  do  not  know  his  address,  you  silly  child. ' ' 

"No,"  returned  Mollie,  with  a  sigh;  "that  is  one  of  his 
mysteries.  He  calls  himself  a  nebulous  personage.  '  If  you 
ever  want  to  write  to  me,'  he  said,  the  last  time  he  came,  '  if 
your  father  breaks  his  leg,  for  example,  or  my  friend  the 
humourist  plays  any  of  his  tricks  and  requires  chastisement, 
and  the  strong  arm  of  the  law,  you  can  ask  my  cousin  Althea 
to  send  on  the  letter  for  you. '  Is  that  not  a  funny,  round- 
about way  ?' ' 

"Rather,"  returned  Waveney,  drily,  feeling  as  though  she 
were  on  the  edge  of  a  volcano.  "I  think,  Mollie  dear, 
that  under  these  circumstances  it  would  be  better  not  to 
write,  but  just  wait  and  thank  Mr.  Ingram  when  he  comes." 
And  though  Mollie  looked  a  little  disappointed  at  this  decision, 
she  agreed,  with  her  usual  loyalty,  to  abide  by  it. 

When  the  new  dress  had  been  duly  admired  and  Miss  Althea 
praised  to  Waveney' s  entire  satisfaction,  they  went  downstairs 
to  begin  their  Christmas  merry-making  in  earnest. 

Noel,  who  was  always  the  Lord  cf  Misrule  on  these  occa- 
sions, had  insisted  with  much  severity  on  the  usual  programme 
being  carried  out. 

So  they  had  snapdragon  in  the  dark  dining-room  after  tea, 
and  Mollie  as  usual  burnt  her  fingers,  and  then  they  went  up 
to  the  studio  and  acted  charades  and  dumb  Crambo  to  an  ap- 
preciative audience — Mr.  Ward,  who  occupied  the  front  row, 
and  Ann  and  Mrs.  Muggins,  who  represented  the  pit. 

"Laws,  miss,  ain't  it  beautiful  and  like-life?"  observed 
Ann,  the  heavy-footed,  for  the  twentieth  time.  But  Everard's 
eyes  were  a  little  misty.  If  only  Dorothy  could  have  seen 
them  !  he  thought.  And  then  his  imagination  flew  off  at  a 
tangent  to  his  old  friend,  Althea  Harford.  All  the  evening 
her  soft,  melancholy  voice  had  haunted  him.  "  For  the  sake 
of  auld  lang  syne"  she  had  said,  and  her  tone  had  been  full 
of  pathos.  "  She  has  never  forgotten.  I  think  she  is  one  of 
those  women  who  never  forget,"  he  thought;  but  he  sighed 
as  he  said  it. 

20I 


Mollie's  Prince 

To  Waveney  those  three  days  were  simply  perfect,  and 
every  hour  brought  its  enjoyment.  On  Sunday  afternoon  a 
snowstorm  kept  them  prisoners  to  the  house,  and  there  was 
no  evening  church,  so  they  sang  carols  by  the  fire  instead, 
and  Ann  sat  on  the  stairs  with  Mrs.  Muggins  on  her  lap,  and 
an  old  plaid  shawl  of  her  mother's  to  keep  her  warm,  and 
listened  as  devoutly  as  though  she  were  in  the  vestibule  of 
heaven. 

"Which  is  my  opinion,  Miss  Waveney,"  she  observed 
afterwards,  "as  the  Sadducees  and  Pharisees  could  not  have 
sang  more  sweetly,  not  with  all  their  golden  harps  neither." 

Waveney  looked  puzzled  for  a  moment;  but  Ann's  idio- 
syncrasies were  too  well  known  in  the  household,  and  after  a 
moment  of  silent  reflection  she  said, — 

"I  see  what  you  mean,  Ann.  You  were  thinking  of  the 
cherubim  and  seraphim,  and  it  is  a  fine  compliment  you  are 
paying  us."  And  then  she  went  off  to  share  the  little  joke 
with  Mollie  and  Noel ;  and  the  peals  of  laughter  that  reached 
Ann's  ears  somewhat  perplexed  that  stolid  maiden. 

On  Monday  they  woke  to  a  white  world,  and  then  there 
was  snow  balling  in  the  back  garden,  and  then  a  long  walk 
down  Cheyne  Walk  and  across  the  bridge  to  Battersea  Park. 
And  Mollie  went  with  them,  on  her  father's  arm ;  and  when 
she  got  tired,  which  she  did  far  too  soon,  Noel  took  her  home, 
grumbling  at  every  step,  and  Waveney  and  her  father  went 
on.  It  was  Everard's  greatest  pleasure  to  walk  with  his  girls, 
but  no  companion  suited  him  like  WTaveney ;  her  light, 
springy  step  hardly  seemed  to  touch  the  ground — and  then 
she  was  so  strong  and  active,  and  nothing  seemed  to  tire  her. 
Mollie's  sad  limp  always  made  his  heart  ache. 

As  they  stood  looking  at  some  floating  ice  in  the  river, 
Everard  asked  a  little  abruptly  if  Mollie  had  written  to  Mr. 
Ingram. 

Waveney  shook  her  head.  The  question  rather  surprised 
her. 

"  Why,  no,  father,"  she  replied,  slowly ;  "we  do  not  know 
Mr.  Ingram's  address,  so  I  persuaded  Mollie  to  wait  until  he 
calls." 

"Well,  perhaps  you  are  right,"  returned  Mr.  WTard,  doubt- 
fully. "But  Waveney,  child,  I  am  getting  a  little  bothered 
about  things.  I  like  the  fellow,  I  like  him  better  every  time 
I  see  him — he  has  real  grit  in  him,  and  he  is  a  gentleman; 
but  I  never  saw  a  girl  courted  after  this  fashion." 


A  White  Vellum  Pocket-Book 

"What  do  you  mean,  father?"  asked  Waveney,  a  little 
timidly  \  for  she  and  Mollie  were  not  at  all  up  to  date,  and 
their  shyness  and  reticence  on  this  subject  were  quite  old- 
fashioned. 

"  Why,  any  child  can  see  that  Ingram  worships  the  ground 
Mollie  walks  on,"  returned  Mr.  Ward,  with  a  touch  of  im- 
patience in  his  voice.  "  When  she  looked  at  him,  with  her 
big,  innocent  eyes,  he  stammered  and  changed  colour  more 
than  once.  Oh,  the  man  is  in  earnest,  I  would  take  my  oath 
of  that;  it  is  Mollie' s  side  of  the  question  I  want  to  know; 
she  ought  not  to  encourage  him  by  taking  his  presents  unless 
she  means  to  have  him." 

This  was  plain  speaking,  but  Mr.  Ward  was  getting  des- 
perate. His  motherless  girls  had  no  protector  but  himself.  It 
was  pretty  to  see  how  Waveney  blushed  on  Mollie' s  account. 

"  Father,  dear,"  she  stammered,  "  I  can't  be  quite  sure  but 
I  think  Mollie  is  beginning  to  care  a  little  for  Mr.  Ingram. 
She  certainly  misses  him ;  he  is  very  keen  and  clever,  and  I 
fancy  that  he  understands  her  so  well  that  he  will  not  hurry 
things.  I  mean" — explaining  herself  with  difficulty — "that 
he  will  not  speak  until  he  is  certain  that  her  heart  is  won." 

"  That  is  my  opinion,  too,"  returned  her  father;  and  then 
he  looked  at  her  with  tender  curiosity.  "Where  did  you 
gain  your  knowledge  of  men,  little  girl  ?' '  But  Waveney  had 
no  answer  ready  for  this  question. 

That  night,  as  they  sat  on  the  rug  in  the  firelight,  like  two 
blissful  salamanders,  Mollie  said,  in  a  flurried  and  anxious 
voice, — 

"Wave,  darling,  I  want  to  consult  you  about  something, 
and  you  must  give  me  all  your  attention ;  you  know, ' '  clear- 
ing her  throat,  as  though  it  were  a  little  dry;  "we  have 
decided  that  I  had  better  not  write  to  Mr.  Ingram." 

"Oh,  yes,  Mollie,  we  decided  that  long  ago."  Waveney 
spoke  in  a  calm  and  judicial  voice,  but  Mollie  only  grew  more 
flurried. 

"  But  I  must  do  something  to  please  him,"  she  returned,  in 
quite  a  distressed  tone.  "Think  of  all  the  pleasure  he  has 
given  me,  Wave.  I  have  got  such  a  lovely  idea  in  my  head. 
I  have  finished  the  menu-cards,  and  I  want  to  paint  one  of 
these  white  velum  pocket-books  for  Mr.  Ingram — a  spray  of 
purple  pansies  would  look  so  well  on  it.  And  I  will  have  it 
all  ready  for  him  when  he  comes  next.  Don't  you  think  he 
would  be  pleased,  Wave  ?' ' 

203 


Mollie's  Prince 

"  Of  course  he  would  be  pleased,  sweetheart ;  he  would 
carry  it  next  to  his  heart,  and  sleep  with  it  under  his  pillow." 
But  this  nonsense  was  received  rather  pettishly. 

"  I  wish  you  would  be  serious  when  a  person  asks  advice," 
returned  Mollie,  with  a  little  frown.  "You  would  not  like 
any  one  to  say  those  silly  things  to  you."  Then  Waveney 
was  on  her  best  behaviour  at  once,  and  the  naughty,  mis- 
chievous sparkle  faded  out  of  her  eyes. 

"Don't  be  cross,  Mollie  darling,"  she  said  caressingly. 
"  I  do  think  your  idea  very  pretty,  and  I  should  think  Mr. 
Ingram  will  be  very  pleased,  he  does  admire  your  painting  so. 
Why  have  you  selected  pansies,  I  wonder?"  Then,  at  this 
very  simple  question,  Mollie  looked  a  little  confused.  "  They 
are  his  favourite  flowers,"  she  almost  whispered;  "he  says 
you  can  never  have  too  much  heart' s-ease  in  this  world. ' '  And 
this  answer  fully  satisfied  Waveney. 

The  next  morning  they  started  off  to  Sloane  Street  to  pur- 
chase the  pocket-book,  and  Mollie  expended  the  last  of  her 
earnings ;  and  the  moment  Waveney  left  her,  to  return  to 
Erpingham,  she  sat  down  to  her  little  painting  table  and 
worked  until  the  short  winter's  afternoon  closed  in. 

Waveney  did  not  see  it  until  it  was  finished,  and  then  her 
admiration  fully  satisfied  Mollie.  It  was  a  charming  design, 
and  a  pansy  with  a  broken  stalk,  dropping  from  the  main 
cluster,  had  a  very  graceful  effect. 

"  Father  likes  it;  he  says  I  have  never  painted  anything 
better  !"  observed  Mollie,  with  modest  pride;  and  Waveney 
cordially  endorsed  this. 

Privately  she  thought  the  dainty  pocket-book  was  more  fit 
for  some  youthful  bride.  "Mr.  Ingram  could  not  possibly 
use  it,"  she  said  to  herself;  "  he  will  put  it  under  a  glass  case, 
or  lock  it  up  in  a  drawer.  And  if  Mollie  ever  writes  love- 
letters  to  him,  he  will  keep  them  in  his  pansy-book."  And 
then  she  smiled  to  herself  as  she  thought  of  his  delight  when 
Mollie,  with  many  blushes  and  much  incoherence,  should 
hand  him  the  book ;  she  could  almost  see  the  flash  of  pleasure 
in  his  eyes.  But  as  her  lively  imagination  pictured  the  little 
scene,  she  was  far  from  guessing  under  what  different  circum- 
stances Ingram  would  receive  his  pansy-book. 


204 


An  Idealist  in  Love 
CHAPTER  XXVII. 

AN   IDEALIST   IN   LOVE. 
"  Whatever  we  gain,  we  gain  by  patience. 


S.  Teresa. 


"  Faith,  thou  hast  some  crotchets  in  thy  head  now." 

The  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor. 

About  three  weeks  after  Christmas  Althea  was  sitting  alone 
in  her  library. 

The  great  room  felt  strangely  empty  that  morning.  There 
was  no  curly  head  to  be  seen  bending  over  the  writing  table  in 
Cosy  Nook  j  no  girl  secretary  to  answer  the  silver  chiming  of 
Althea' s  little  bell.  Waveney  and  Doreen  had  gone  up  to 
town  for  a  day's  shopping,  leaving  Althea  to  enjoy  the  rest 
that  she  so  sorely  needed. 

The  severe  round  of  Christmas  feastings,  the  lavish  dis- 
pensing of  cakes  and  ale,  would  have  tried  a  robust  constitu- 
tion, and  even  Doreen  complained  of  unwonted  fatigue ;  but 
Althea,  highly  strung  and  sensitive,  had  to  pay  the  usual 
penalty  for  over-exertion  by  one  of  her  painful  eye  attacks, 
which  lasted  for  three  or  four  days,  leaving  her  weak  and 
depressed. 

It  is  strange  and  sad  how  mind  and  body  react  on  each 
other  in  these  attacks.  A  grey  haze,  misty  and  impalpable, 
seemed  to  veil  Althea' s  inner  world,  and  blot  out  her  cheer- 
fulness. The  free,  healthy  current  of  her  thoughts  was  checked 
by  dimly  discerned  obstacles.  A  chilling  sense  of.self-distrust, 
of  rashly  undertaken  work,  made  her  heart  heavy. 

"It  is  brain-sickness,"  Doreen  would  say,  to  comfort  her. 
"It  will  pass,  my  dear." 

"Yes,  it  will  pass,"  returned  Althea,  with  passive  gentle- 
ness. "I  know  that  as  well  as  you  do,  Dorrie;  but  for  the 
time  it  masters  me.  Althea  ill  and  Althea  well  seem  two  dif- 
ferent persons.  Is  it  not  humiliating,  dear,  to  think  we  are  at 
the  mercy  of  our  over-wrought  nerves  ?  A  trifling  ailment,  a 
little  bodily  discomfort,  and,  if  we  are  at  heaven's  very  gate, 
we  drop  to  earth  like  the  lark." 

"  Into  our  nest,"  returned  Doreen,  with  a  smile.     "You 

205 


Mollie's  Prince 

have  chosen  too  cheerful  a  simile.    Larks  soar  perpetually,  and 
they  sing  as  they  soar." 

"  I  think  I  am  more  like  a  blind  mole  at  the  present  mo- 
ment," replied  Althea,  pushing  up  her  shade  a  little,  that  she 
might  see  her  sister's  face.  "  Dorrie,  I  am  ashamed  of  myself. 
I  deserve  any  amount  of  scolding.  I  try  to  count  up  my 
blessings,  to  think  of  my  girls'  happy  faces,  but  I  am  fast  in 
my  Slough  of  Despond,  and  not  all  your  efforts  will  pull  me 
out." 

"  Very  well,  then,  we  must  leave  you  there,"  returned  Do- 
reen,  composedly;  but  she  gave  Althea' s  hand  a  loving  little 
squeeze  as  she  said  this.  Her  heart  was  full  of  tenderness  and 
sympathy,  but  she  was  too  sensible  to  waste  words  fruitlessly. 

These  sick  moods  were  purely  physical,  and  would  yield, 
she  knew  well,  to  time  and  rest.  They  were  trials  to  be  borne 
—  part  of  Althea's  life-discipline — the  cloud  that  checkered 
their  home  cheerfulness ;  for  these  melancholy  moods  seemed 
to  pervade  the  whole  house. 

Althea  felt  much  as  usual  that  morning,  though  she  had  not 
quite  recovered  her  looks.  Her  face  seemed  longer  and  more 
sallow,  and  there  were  tired  lines  round  her  eyes.  When  a 
woman  has  passed  her  youth,  mental  suffering  leaves  an  in- 
delible mark  ;  and  Althea  looked  old  and  worn  that  day,  and 
more  like  Queen  Elizabeth's  Wraith  than  ever. 

"I  am  very  idle,"  she  was  saying  to  herself,  "but  I  feel  that 
not  one  of  the  books  that  ever  were  written  would  interest  me 
to-day.  I  have  no  spirit  or  energy  for  travels,  history  is  too 
full  of  war  and  bloodshed,  and  biography  would  weary  me  ;  a 
novel — well,  no  I  think  not ;  I  am  not  in  the  mood  for  other 
people's  love-stories.  I  wish  some  one  would  write  a  novel 
about  elderly  people,"  she  went  on — "middle-aged,  prosaic 
people,  who  have  outlived  their  romance.  How  soothing 
such  a  book  would  be  !  I  could  almost  write  it  myself. 
There  should  be  plenty  of  incident,  and  very  little  moral- 
ising ;  and  it  would  be  like  one  of  those  grey  winter  days, 
when  the  sunlight  is  veiled  in  soft  vapour,  and  every  window 
one  passes  is  red  with  the  firelight  of  home." 

The  fancy  pleased  her,  and  she  smiled  at  her  own  conceit ; 
but  it  faded  in  a  moment  when  the  door-bell  rang. 

"  A  visitor  at  this  time  in  the  morning  !"  she  thought,  and 
a  little  frown  of  annoyance  gathered  on  her  brow;  but  it  van- 
ished when  Mitchell  threw  open  the  door  and  announced 
Lord  Ralston. 

206 


An  Idealist  in  Love 

"Why,  Moritz  !"  she  exclaimed,  and  her  voice  was  full  of 
surprise  and  pleasure,  "  this  is  indeed  a  welcome  sight.  How 
long  is  it  since  you  last  honoured  our  poor  abode?  Draw 
that  chair  up  to  the  fire  and  give  some  account  of  yourself. 
Even  Gwen  seems  to  have  forgotten  our  existence  since  baby 
Murdoch  made  his  appearance  !" 

"  Ah,  you  may  well  say  so,"  returned  Moritz,  with  a  dismal 
shake  of  his  head.  "Gwen  is  incorrigible.  I  give  you  my 
word,  Althea,  that  the  beatitude  of  that  young  woman  is  so 
excessive  and  so  fatuous  that  it  resembles  idiocy.  She  fairly 
drivels  with  sentiment  over  that  infant,  and  he  is  as  ugly  and 
snub-nosed  a  little  chap  as  Gwen  was  herself.  He  has  even 
got  her  freckles;  and  she  calls  them  beauty-spots;"  and  Lord 
Ralston' s  voice  expressed  unmitigated  disgust. 

Althea  laughed. 

"  I  do  not  suppose  that  Madam  endorses  these  sentiments. 
I  should  like  to  hear  Mrs.  Compton's  opinion  of  her  grand- 
son." 

"  Well,  she  vows  he  is  a  fine  child,  and  he  has  got  Jack's 
eyes.  But,  all  the  same,  I  heard  her  tell  Gwen  that  a  plain 
baby  often  became  a  handsome  man.  So  we  can  make  our 
own  deductions  from  that.  '  Murdoch  has  his  good  points,' 
she  went  on,  'and  he  will  improve.'  And,  would  you  believe 
it  ?  that  idiotic  Gwen  became  as  red  as  a  turkey-cock. 

"  '  There  is  no  improvement  wanted,'  she  said,  indignantly. 
'  My  precious  baby  is  perfect.  He  is  beautiful  in  his  mother's 
eyes,  whatever  his  cross  old  grandmother  chooses  to  say!' 
And  then  she  hugged  the  little  chap  and  cried  over  him,  and 
all  the  time  Madam  sat  beaming  on  them  both,  with  her  fine 
old  face  tremulous  with  happiness. 

"It  is  Ruth  and  Naomi  over  again,"  finished  Moritz. 
"  Madam  still  finds  fault  with  Jack  sometimes,  but  never  with 
Gwen,  and  the  way  Gwen  toadies  her  passes  belief." 

"  Gwendoline  is  very  happy,  certainly.  Never  was  there  a 
better-matched  couple  than  she  and  Jack  Compton."  Althea 
spoke  in  a  tone  of  warm  interest.  She  had  forgotten  her  dis- 
taste for  other  people's  love  stories  at  that  moment,  and  the 
thought  of  her  young  cousin's  happiness  was  pleasant  to  her. 
"  Dear  Gwen,  I  am  so  fond  of  her.  I  am  glad  that  one  man 
had  the  sense  to  fall  in  love  with  her,  in  spite  of  her  plain 
face ;  but  you  know,  Moritz,  that  I  always  thought  Gwen's 
ugliness  quite  charming." 

"Yes,  but  I  could  not  have  done  it  in  Jack's  place,"  re- 

207 


Mollie's  Prince 

turned  Moritz,  rather  thoughtfully.  "I  am  too  great  an  ad- 
mirer of  beauty. ' '  And  then  he  changed  the  subject  a  little 
abruptly.  "  Jack  and  Gwen  and  their  son  and  heir  have  been 
staying  with  me  at  Brentwood.  I  had  a  house-party  for 
Christmas  and  the  New  Year,  and  I  wanted  Gwen  to  play 
hostess.  It  was  an  awful  bore,  and  I  got  pretty  sick  of  it,  but 
they  had  both  been  lecturing  me  on  the  duties  I  owed  to  my 
fellow-creatures.  Well,  I  have  played  my  Lord  Frivol  long 
enough,  and  now  I  am  plain  Mr.  Ingram  again." 

"What,  still  masquerading?  Isn't  it  time  for  you  to 
unmask?"     But  he  shook  his  head. 

"No,  not  yet;  but  there  is  method  in  my  madness.  We 
have  not  quite  completed  our  little  comedy,  but  I  think  the 
closing  scene  will  be  effective."  He  shut  his  eyes  as  though 
to  picture  the  scene,  and  then  opened  them  abruptly.  "I 
have  not  been  to  Cleveland  Terrace  for  an  age.  In  fact,  I 
only  came  up  from  Brentwood  this  morning,  and  on  my  way 
up  here  I  passed  Doreen  and  Miss  Ward." 

1 '  Oh,  then  you  knew  I  was  alone  ?' ' 

"To  be  sure  I  did.  That  is  why  I  appear  in  my  true  char- 
acter. I  suppose" — his  voice  changing  perceptibly — "that 
Miss  Mollie  and  her  father  and  my  friend  the  humourist  are 
well?"  But  Moritz  did  not  look  at  Althea  as  he  put  this 
question,  and  so  did  not  see  the  little  smile  on  her  lips. 

"  They  were  quite  well  when  Waveney  went  home  on  Sun- 
day. She  said  Mollie  was  a  little  pale  and  tired ;  but  then, 
she  had  been  taking  too  long  a  walk.  She  spent  a  night  here 
on  the  evening  of  our  girls'  entertainment.  It  was  quite 
amusing  to  see  how  they  all  admired  her.  She  was  the  May 
Queen  in  one  of  the  tableaux.  It  was  the  prettiest  thing 
imaginable." 

"  I  wish  I  had  seen  it ;"  and  Lord  Ralston's  eyes  were  dark 
and  bright.  If  Althea  had  not  guessed  his  secret  long  ago, 
she  would  have  guessed  it  now.  With  one  of  those  sudden 
impulses  which  were  natural  to  her,  she  put  her  hand  gently 
on  his  arm. 

"Moritz,"  she  said,  in  her  sweet,  womanly  way,  "does 
Gwen  know.     Have  you  made  her  your  confidante?" 

Just  for  a  moment  Moritz  drew  himself  up  a  little  stiffly — 
as  though  he  resented  the  question ;  but  the  kindness  in 
Althea' s  eyes  disarmed  him,  and  perhaps  his  need  of  sympathy 
was  too  great. 

"There  was  no  need  to  tell  her,"  he  returned,  in  a  low 

208 


An  Idealist  in  Love 

voice;  "she  found  it  out  for  herself.     Gwen  is  very  acute 
about  such  things." 

"And  she  approves?" 

"  Oh,  we  have  not  come  to  that  point  yet" — speaking  in  his 
old,  airy  manner — "  but  she  was  very  much  interested,  and  as 
good  as  gold.  She  laughed  at  me  a  little  for  what  she  called 
my  fantastic  chivalry ;  but,  all  the  same,  she  seemed  to 
like  it." 

"  But,  Moritz,  why  are  you  so  afraid  of  appearing  in  your 
true  colours  ?  I  do  not  see  that  Viscount  Ralston  is  a  less 
interesting  person  than  Mr.  Ingram." 

"Perhaps  not,"  he  returned,  drily;  "but  we  all  have  our 
whims.  I  am  an  Idealist,  you  must  remember  that,  and  I  have 
a  wish  to  stand  on  my  own  merits  as  a  man,  and  not  to  make 
myself  taller  by  posing  on  my  pedestal  of  thirty  thousand  a 
year.  It  may  be  a  foolish  whimsie,  but  it  is  a  harmless  one, 
and  affords  me  plenty  of  innocent  amusement." 

Althea  smiled,  but  she  knew  it  was  useless  to  pursue  the 
argument.  Moritz  and  Gwendoline  were  both  utterly  unman- 
ageable when  they  had  a  crotchet  in  their  head.  They  cared 
nothing  about  the  world's  opinion,  and  as  for  Madam  Grundy, 
or  any  other  madam,  they  had  simply  no  regard  for  them. 
Already  Viscount  Ralston  was  considered  a  most  eccentric 
person,  and  sundry  matrons  had  admonished  their  daughters 
on  no  account  to  contradict  him.  "He  is  a  little  odd,  cer- 
tainly," one  of  them  remarked,  "but  I  am  told  he  is  really 
clever  and  original,  and  that  sort  of  thing  wears  off  after  a 
time.  Your  father  is  very  much  taken  with  him,  so  you  may 
make  yourself  as  agreeable  as  you  like  to  Lord  Ralston. ' ' 

"And  when  may  I  ask  him  to  marry  me  ?"  returned  the 
daughter,  to  whom  this  Macchiavellian  speech  had  been  ad- 
dressed ;  for  Lady  Ginevra  had  plenty  of  spirit,  and  was  clever 
enough  to  read  between  the  lines.  "  Mother  was  terribly  put 
out,"  she  informed  her  younger  sister  afterwards.  "  She  lec- 
tured me  for  ten  minutes  on  what  she  called  my  coarseness  and 
vulgarity ;  but,  as  I  told  her,  I  prefer  vulgarity  to  hypocrisy. 
*  You  and  father  want  me  to  marry  Viscount  Ralston,'  I  told 
her,  'because  he  has  Brentwood  Hall  and  a  fine  house  in 
town  and  thirty  thousand  a  year,  and  it  does  not  matter  one 
bit  if  I  care  for  him  or  not ;  if  he  holds  out  the  sceptre  to  me 
I  am  to  touch  it.'  But,  thank  heavens,  Jenny,  these  are  not 
the  Dark  Ages,  and  though  mother  frowned  and  stamped  her 
foot,  there  was  no  'Get  thee  to  a  nunnery!'  "  And  Lady 
14  209 


Mollie's  Prince 

Ginevra  laughed  and  went  off  to  put  on  her  habit,  for  it  was 
the  hour  when  she  and  her  father  rode  in  the  park. 

Althea  had  a  word  to  say  before  she  let  the  subject  drop. 

"At  the  theatre  you  spoke  of  needing  my  help,  Moritz. 
I  hope  you  will  let  me  know  when  my  assistance  is  wanted." 

"  Oh,  I  was  going  to  speak  to  you  about  that,"  he  returned, 
quickly.  "You  see,  my  dear  cousin,  that  there  are  circum- 
stances in  which  a  man  is  bound  not  to  be  selfish.  Miss 
Mollie" — how  his  voice  always  softened  as  he  said  the  name  ! 
— "  is  so  simple  and  childlike  ;  she  knows  so  little  of  the  world, 
and  her  life  has  been  so  retired,  that  I  dare  not  hurry  matters. 
She  must  learn  to  know  and  trust  me  before  I  can  venture  to 
make  my  meaning  plain." 

"Yes,  I  can  understand  that." 

"  Gwen  quite  agrees  with  me,  but  all  the  same  I  think — at 
least,  I  hope — that  Monsieur  Blackie's  probation  will  soon  be 
over,  but  Gwen  and  I  have  all  our  plans  in  readiness.  What 
do  you  say  to  a  picnic  party  at  Brentwood  about  the  middle 
of  next  month?" 

"  My  dear  Moritz,  are  you  crazy?  Really,  an  Idealist  in 
love  is  a  terrible  being.  A  picnic  in  the  middle  of  February ! 
Do  you  want  the  three  grim  sisters,  snow  and  hail  and  frost,  to 
be  among  your  guests  ?' ' 

"Pshaw!  nonsense!"  he  replied,  impatiently.  "There  are 
lovely  spring-like  days  in  February.  Besides,  with  the  sort  of 
picnic  I  mean,  weather  will  not  signify.  You  had  better  hear 
my  programme  first,  Althea." 

"  Oh,  go  on,"  she  returned,  in  a  resigned  voice.  "  I  will 
try  to  forget  my  common-sense  while  I  listen  to  you." 

But  he  only  twirled  his  moustache  triumphantly. 

"  The  party  will  be  small  and  select;  just  you  and  the  two 
Misses  Ward  and  Gwen  and  myself." 

"  And  not  Noel  ?"  in  some  surprise. 

"Noel!  Oh,  dear,  no!  My  friend  the  humourist  would 
be  decidedly  de  trap.  He  is  too  acute  and  wide-awake  a 
youth,  and  Monsieur  Blackie  would  be  found  out  in  a 
moment." 

"  But  I  thought  Lord  Ralston  was  to  be  our  host !"  Althea 
spoke  in  a  puzzled  tone.  Then  Moritz  patted  her  in  a  sooth- 
ing manner. 

"Keep  calm,  I  entreat  you,"  he  said,  gently.  "In  the 
presence  of  great  thoughts  we  should  always  keep  calm. 
Lord  Ralston  is  my  intimate  friend,  please  understand  that. 


An  Idealist  in  Love 

We  are  like  brothers,  he  and  I,  and  it  is  for  the  corner  of  his 
picture-gallery,  at  Brentwood,  that  King  Canute  was  bought; 
Miss  Ward  and  her  sister  will  be  interested  to  see  it  again. 
And  as  Brentwood  Hall,  with  its  Silent  Pool,  is  a  show  place 
— a  picnic  there  will  be  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world." 

"And  the  master  is  absent." 

"Yes,  he  is  absent — but  he  may  return  at  any  moment;" 
and  here  there  was  a  strange  glow  in  Moritz's  eyes.  "We 
must  leave  town  early,"  he  went  on,  briskly,  after  a  moment's 
pause — "and  I  think  we  could  reach  Brentwood  by  midday. 
Gwen  has  promised  to  meet  us  at  the  Hall,  and  we  shall  have 
plenty  of  time  to  see  the  picture-gallery,  and  more  of  the 
rooms  before  luncheon.  I  shall  coach  the  servants  carefully, 
so  there  will  be  no  contretemps.  After  luncheon  there  will  be 
the  conservatories  and  the  Silent  Pool,  and  then  tea  in  the 
blue  drawing-room ;  it  will  be  light  until  half-past  five,  so  you 
may  as  well  tell  Doreen  not  to  expect  you  home  until  eight. 
Oh,  I  forgot  one  important  part  of  the  programme :  Gwen 
means  to  carry  you  off  to  Kingsdene,  either  before  or  after 
tea,  to  see  baby  Murdoch  and  Madam ;  she  is  staying  with 
them  at  present. ' ' 

It  was  evident,  from  Althea' s  amused  look,  that  the  picnic 
at  Brentwood  would  meet  with  her  approval,  and  she  was  just 
about  to  give  a  cordial  assent  when  Mitchell  entered  to  tell 
her  that  luncheon  was  ready ;  and  at  the  same  time  she  handed 
her  a  telegram. 

" It  is  for  Miss  Ward,  ma'am,"  she  said ;  "  and  the  boy  is 
waiting." 

"Then  I  suppose  I  had  better  open  it,"  returned  Althea. 
"  There  was  some  talk  of  their  going  to  Cleveland  Terrace  to 
have  tea  with  Mollie,  if  they  finished  their  shopping  in  time. 
Perhaps  this  is  to  say  that  she  is  out  or  engaged."  And  then 
Althea  opened  the  yellow  envelope.  But  her  countenance 
changed  as  she  read  the  telegram. 

"Do  not  come,"  was  all  it  said.  "Mollie  is  ill — will 
write."     It  was  from  Everard  Ward. 


Mollie's  Prince 

CHAPTER   XXVIII. 
"but  yet  the  pity  of  it." 

"  The  web  of  our  life  is  of  a  mingled  yarn,  good  and  ill  together." — 
All's  Well  that  Ends  Well. 

"  For  this  relief  much  thanks." — Hamlet. 

When  Althea  had  read  the  brief  message,  she  told  Mitchell 
very  quietly  that  there  was  no  answer  required,  and  that  she 
might  give  the  boy  some  refreshment  and  send  him  away ; 
and  then,  as  the  maid  left  the  room,  she  handed  the  telegram 
to  Moritz. 

It  troubled  her  kind  heart  to  see  the  pain  in  his  eyes  as  he 
read  it.  He  was  quite  pale,  and  his  lips  twitched  under  his 
moustache. 

"What  does  it  mean?"  he  asked,  in  rather  a  stifled  voice. 
"  I  thought  you  said  that  she  was  well.  If  she  is  ill,  why  is 
her  sister  to  be  kept  away  ?  You  see  what  he  says :  '  Do  not 
come.'  " 

"  Yes,  I  see,"  returned  Althea,  very  gravely.  "  It  must  be 
something  sudden  ;  but  I  hope,  for  poor  dear  Waveney's  sake, 
that  it  is  nothing  infectious.  Let  me  think  for  a  moment — 
one  cannot  grasp  it  at  once.  This  is  Wednesday,  and  on 
Sunday  Mollie  was  well — only  a  little  pale  and  tired ;  and  yes, 
I  remember,  she  had  a  slight  headache,  and  so  Waveney  per- 
suaded her  not  to  go  to  church." 

"A  headache  and  pale  and  tired  !  Good  heavens,  Althea, 
it  is  clear  as  daylight!  She  was  sickening  for  something." 
Moritz's  tone  was  so  tragical,  and  he  paced  the  room  so  rest- 
lessly, that,  in  spite  of  her  very  real  anxiety,  Althea  could 
hardly  repress  a  smile. 

"  Dear  Moritz,"  she  said,  gently,  "  there  is  no  need  to  take 
such  a  gloomy  view.  Our  pretty  Mollie  is  human,  and  must 
be  ill  sometimes  like  other  people.  Perhaps  it  is  a  bad  cold 
or  influenza,  or  it  might  even  be  measles — they  are  very  much 
about." 

For  Moritz's  "  unregenerate  woman"  had  been  singularly 
captious  since  the  New  Year,  and  close  muggy  days  had  paved 
the  way  for  all  kinds  of  ailments  to  which  flesh  is  heir. 


"But  Yet  the  Pity  of  It" 

There  was  a  great  deal  of  sickness  at  Dereham,  and  Althea 
had  been  both  wise  and  careful  in  refusing  to  allow  Waveney 
to  go  as  usual  amongst  her  pensioners. 

"Of  course  it  may  be  anything,"  returned  Lord  Ralston, 
impatiently, — for  even  his  easy  temper  was  not  proof  against 
the  bitterness  of  his  disappointment, — he  had  so  hungered 
and  thirsted,  poor  fellow,  for  a  sight  of  Mollie's  sweet  face. 
All  these  weeks  he  had  been  doing  his  duty  nobly,  and  now 
he  had  looked  for  his  reward.  ' '  Absence  makes  the  heart 
grow  fonder,"  he  had  said  to  himself  that  very  morning. 
Would  "this  bud  of  love"  which  he  had  been  nurturing  so 
tenderly,  have  blossomed  into  "a  beauteous  flower"  when 
they  met  again?  Over  and  over  again  he  had  asked  himself 
this  question  ;  but  Mollie  was  ill,  and  all  hope  of  an  immediate 
answer  was  over. 

"It  may  be  anything,"  he  repeated.  "  But  wrho  is  to  look 
after  her?  There  is  only  her  father  and  that  halfwitted  maid- 
of-all-work.  There  used  to  be  some  friend  who  nursed  them 
when  they  were  ill,  but  she  is  living  somewhere  in  the  coun- 
try with  an  invalid  lady.  We  must  get  a  nurse.  Do  you 
know  where  their  doctor  lives?" 

But  Althea  shook  her  head. 

"  No  ;  but  we  can  find  out.  Moritz,  I  think  the  best  plan 
will  be  for  me  to  go  over  to  Cleveland  Terrace,  and  then  I  can 
tell  Waveney  exactly  how  things  are;  I  will  leave  a  line  for 
Doreen  and  beg  her  to  say  nothing  until  my  return."  Then  a 
look  of  intense  relief  crossed  Moritz' s  face. 

"  It  is  a  good  idea,"  he  said,  eagerly;  "  and  I  will  go  with 
you."     And  Althea  made  no  objection  to  this. 

"It  is  a  pity  the  carriage  is  out,"  she  said,  regretfully; 
"but  George  shall  get  us  a  cab.  Now  we  will  go  and  have 
some  luncheon,  and  then  I  will  get  ready."  But  with  both 
of  them  the  meal  was  a  pretence.  Apprehension  and  worry 
deprived  Moritz  of  all  appetite,  and  Althea  was  so  nervous 
and  fluttered  at  the  idea  of  encountering  Everard  in  his  own 
home,  that  she  could  scarcely  eat  a  morsel 

She  rose  as  soon  as  possible,  and  left  Moritz  to  finish  his 
repast ;  but  he  preferred  pacing  the  room.  In  spite  of  his 
vivacity  and  gaiete-de-cceur,  his  jaunty  airs  and  cheerfulness, 
he  was  easily  depressed.  Any  form  of  illness  that  attacked 
those  he  loved,  preyed  on  his  mind.  When  Gwendoline's 
little  son  was  born,  he  was  so  anxious  and  despondent  that 
Jack  Compton,  in  spite  of  his  own  natural  solicitude  for  his 

213 


Mollie's  Prince 

young  wife's  safety,  laughed  at  him  and  told  him  "that  he 
looked  as  melancholy  as  a  gib  cat."  "  The  old  chap  was  in 
the  doldrums  and  no  mistake,"  he  said  to  Gwen  afterwards. 
"  I  tell  him  I  played  the  man  twice  as  well  as  he.  But  he  is  a 
good  old  sort,  too."  And  then,  with  awe  and  wonder,  the 
young  father  regarded  the  small  and  crumpled  and  exceedingly 
red  morsel  of  humanity,  lying  snugly  within  Gwen's  arm. 

As  they  drove  up  to  Cleveland  Terrace  they  saw  an  unmis- 
takable doctor's  brougham  before  the  door  of  Number  Ten. 
Lord  Ralston' s  swarthy  complexion  turned  rather  livid  at  the 
sight,  but  Althea  only  remarked,  with  composure,  that  they 
had  come  just  at  the  right  time. 

Noel  opened  the  door  to  them ;  he  had  seen  them  from  the 
window  ;  his  face  brightened  perceptibly.  "  Father  has  gone 
up  with  Dr.  Duncan,"  he  said;  "but  they  will  be  coming 
down  directly;  you  had  better  come  up  into  the  studio. 
There  is  a  fire  there."  And  Noel  led  the  way.  Althea 
glanced  quickly  round  the  room  as  she  entered.  It  was 
shabby,  there  could  be  no  doubt  of  that,  but  there  was  an  air 
of  comfort  about  it.  And  then  she  subsided  wearily  into  a 
corner  of  the  big,  cosy-looking  couch ;  but  Moritz  marched 
off  to  the  inner  room  and  stood  with  his  back  to  them,  gazing 
at  poor  Mollie's  little  writing-table  with  an  aching  heart. 

"  Noel,  what  is  the  matter  with  your  sister?"  asked  Althea, 
in  a  low  voice  ;  but  Noel  could  not  tell  her.  She  had  seemed 
queer  and  feverish  the  previous  day,  he  explained,  and  his 
father  had  advised  her  remaining  in  bed.  She  had  had  a  bad 
night,  and  her  throat  was  painful,  and  he  had  been  forbidden 
to  go  near  her.  This  was  Dr.  Duncan's  first  visit.  They  had 
sent  for  him  in  the  morning,  but  he  had  been  unable  to  come 
until  now. 

It  was  evident  that  Noel  could  not  enlighten  them  much,  so 
Althea  forebore  to  question  him  further,  and  waited  silently 
until  they  heard  footsteps  descending  the  stairs ;  but  as  they 
passed  by  the  studio  door  Althea  heard  the  doctor  say, — 

"  I  will  look  in  later  and  see  what  you  have  done  about  the 
nurse." 

Noel  heard  it,  too,  for  he  looked  rather  startled. 

"  A  nurse  !"  he  muttered.  "  Poor  old  pater,  that  will  bother 
him  a  bit."     And  then  Everard  came  quickly  into  the  room. 

"Noel,  I  want  you!"  he  said,  rather  sharply.     "Duncan 

says "  but  here  he  stopped  in  sudden  surprise  as  Althea's 

tall  figure  rose  from  the  couch. 

214 


"But  Yet  the  Pity  of  It" 

"Mr.  Ward,"  she  said,  quietly,  "Waveney  was  out,  so  I 
opened  your  telegram,  and  I  have  come  to  see  if  there  is  any- 
thing I  can  do  for  Mollie.  My  cousin,  Lord — I  mean  Mr. 
Ingram,  has  brought  me."  Then  Everard,  with  rather  a  sad 
smile,  held  out  his  hand  to  the  young  man. 

"  You  are  both  very  kind,"  he  said,  simply,  "but  there  is 
nothing  you  can  do  for  the  dear  child.  Mollie  is  very  ill,  and 
Dr.  Duncan  wishes  her  to  have  a  good  nurse  at  once.  I  am 
going  to  send  Noel  off  to  the  Institution.  He  has  given  me 
the  address — it  is  diphtheria,  and  her  throat  is  in  a  dreadful 
state,  and  there  is  no  time  to  be  lost." 

"Let  me  go,"  returned  Moritz,  earnestly.  "I  will  take  a 
hansom  and  be  there  in  no  time.  Mr.  Ward,  I  shall  esteem 
it  as  a  favour  and  a  mark  of  true  friendship  if  you  will  send 
me  instead  of  Noel."  But  before  Everard  could  reply  to  this 
urgent  request,  Althea's  gentle  voice  interposed. 

"  Mr.  Ward,  please  listen  to  me  a  moment.  I  know  what 
this  illness  means — I  have  had  it  myself — Mollie  will  need  two 
nurses ;  there  would  be  no  one  to  take  care  of  her  by  day 
while  the  nurse  rests,  and  any  neglect  would  be  an  awful  risk. 
Please  let  Moritz  go  and  settle  the  business.  There  need  only 
be  one  to-night,  but  the  day-nurse  must  relieve  her  to-morrow 
morning.  Let  him  have  the  address,  and  Noel  can  go  with 
him;  and  then  you  must  let  me  go  up  and  see  Mollie."  And 
then  Everard,  in  a  dazed  fashion,  held  out  a  folded  piece  of 
paper. 

'  *  Two  nurses  !  I  shall  be  in  the  workhouse, ' '  they  heard 
him  mutter.     But  no  one  took  any  notice. 

"Althea,  you  are  a  trump,"  whispered  Moritz,  as  she  fol- 
lowed him  into  the  passage.  "Tell  me  anything  she  needs, 
and  I  will  get  it.  Two  nurses  ! — she  shall  have  a  dozen  nurses. 
If  the  doctor  approves,  we  will  have  a  second  opinion;  we 
will  have  the  great  throat  doctor,  Sir  Hindley  Richmond, 
down."  But  what  more  Moritz  would  have  said  in  that  eager, 
sibilant  whisper,  was  never  known,  for  Althea  gave  him  an  im- 
patient little  push. 

' '  Go — go ;  there  is  no  use  in  talking.  I  shall  not  leave  until 
the  nurse  arrives."     And  then  she  went  back  into  the  studio. 

She  had  forgotten  her  nervousness  now,  her  reluctance  to 
enter  Everard' s  house;  her  face  glowed  with  kindly,  womanly 
sympathy,  as  she  approached  him. 

"I  am  so  sorry  for  you,"  she  said,  gently;  "and  I  am 
sorry  for  dear  Mollie,  too,  for  it  is  such  a  painful  complaint. 


Mollie's  Prince 

But  with  good  nursing  I  hope  she  will  soon  be  well.     Is  Dr. 
Duncan  a  clever  man  ?' ' 

"Oh,  yes,  I  believe  so,"  returned  Mr.  Ward,  dejectedly; 
u  but  his  charges  are  very  high.  Miss  Harford,  I  am  afraid 
we  must  manage  with  one  nurse.  I  have  not  the  means.  I 
am  a  poor  man."  But  Althea  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  this.  It 
was  far  too  early  in  the  day  to  proffer  help.  He  must  not  be 
told  yet  that  he  had  good  friends,  who  were  only  too  thankful 
to  be  allowed  to  bear  his  burdens.  For  Mollie's  sake,  for 
Waveney's  sake,  and  for  poor  Moritz's  sake,  there  must  be  no 
indulgence  of  false  and  misplaced  pride.  He  must  be  man- 
aged adroitly  and  with  finesse  and  female  diplomacy — no 
masculine  blundering  must  effect  this. 

"How  did  Mollie  catch  it?"  she  asked,  to  turn  his  thoughts 
from  the  question  of  expense.  But  Everard  could  not  answer 
this  question.  Mollie  had  not  seemed  well  since  Sunday,  he 
said ;  she  had  been  restless  and  irritable,  and  complained  of 
feeling  ill.  She  had  been  so  feverish  in  the  night  that  he 
thought  it  must  be  influenza,  and  he  had  sent  for  Dr.  Duncan  ; 
but,  early  as  it  was,  he  had  already  started  on  his  rounds,  and 
had  only  just  come.  He  would  pay  another  visit  later  in  the 
evening.  Althea  listened  to  this  in  silence ;  then  she  said, 
rather  gravely, — 

"Mr.  Ward,  what  are  we  to  do  about  Waveney?    It  will 

break  her  heart  to  be  kept  from  Mollie  ;  and  yet ' '    Then 

he  turned  upon  her  almost  fiercely,  and  there  was  an  excited 
gleam  in  his  eyes. 

"  I  will  not  have  it.  Tell  Waveney  that  I  forbid  her  to 
come  near  the  house.  Good  heavens  !  would  she  add  to  my 
troubles?  Is  it  not  enough  to  have  one  child  ill?"  Then 
his  eyes  filled  with  tears,  and  the  hand  he  put  on  Althea's  arm 
shook  a  little.  "Dear  Miss  Harford,  be  my  friend  in  this ; 
keep  Waveney  safe  for  me."  And  something  in  his  tone  told 
Althea  that,  dearly  as  Everard  loved  all  his  children,  this  was 
the  one  who  came  closest  to  his  heart. 

"Do  not  fear,"  she  returned,  tenderly.  "You  can  trust 
me,  and  Waveney  loves  you  far  too  well  to  disobey  you ;  but" 
— here  she  sighed — "  it  will  certainly  break  her  heart.  Mollie 
is  her  other  and  her  dearer  self." 

"Yes,  poor  darling,  I  know  that ;  but  she  must  be  brave. 
Tell  her,  from  me,  please,  that  I  will  write  twice  a  day  if  that 
will  comfort  her.  She  shall  know  everything.  There  shall 
be  nothing  hidden  from  her." 

216 


"But  Yet  the   Pity  of  It" 

"  Yes,  I  will  tell  her,"  returned  Althea,  sorrowfully.  "And 
when  my  cousin  returns,  we  will  arrange  about  Noel ;  he  must 
not  stop  here."  Then  there  was  an  unmistakable  look  of 
gratitude  in  Everard' s  eyes. 

"You  think  of  everything,"  he  said,  in  a  broken  voice. 
"  I  was  troubling  sadly  about  the  poor  lad.  Now  I  am  afraid 
I  must  leave  you,  as  Mollie  has  no  other  nurse."  But  he  was 
both  touched  and  surprised  when  Althea  rose,  too. 

"  Let  me  go  with  you,"  she  said,  quickly;  "lam  not  the 
least  afraid.  I  had  the  complaint  very  badly  myself  before  we 
leftKitlands." 

"I  fear  we  are  both  doing  wrong,"  returned  Everard,  hesi- 
tating. "Your  sister  will  be  very  angry  with  you."  But 
Althea  shook  her  head  very  decidedly  at  this,  and  he  was  too 
bewildered  and  miserable  to  argue  the  point. 

The  sick  room  looked  bare  and  comfortless  to  Althea' s  eyes, 
in  spite  of  the  bright  fire  burning  cheerily  in  the  grate.  The 
big  iron  bedstead,  with  its  old  and  obviously  patched  quilt ; 
the  dark  stained  wood  furniture,  and  the  narrow  window  seats, 
with  faded  red  cushions,  were  hardly  a  fit  shrine  for  Mollie's 
dainty  beauty.  Mollie  lay  uncomfortably  on  her  pillows ; 
she  looked  flushed  and  ill,  and  her  beautiful  eyes  had  a 
heavy,  distressed  look  in  them.  She  held  out  her  hands 
rather  eagerly  to  Althea,  but  the  next  moment  she  drew 
them  back. 

"  Oh,  I  forgot,"  she  said,  in  a  thick  voice  ;  and  it  was  evi- 
dently a  great  effort  to  speak.  "You  must  not  come  near 
me :  Dr.  Duncan  said  so.  Tell  my  darling  Wave  that  she 
must  keep  away  if  she  loves  me,  and  ask  her  not  to  fret.  Oh, 
I  cannot  talk ; ' '  and  here  poor  Mollie  flung  herself  back  on 
the  pillows,  and  her  hot,  restless  fingers  tried  to  put  back  the 
heavy  masses  of  rough  tangled  hair. 

How  Althea  longed  to  brush  it  out  and  sponge  the  fevered 
face  and  hands  !  But  at  her  first  hint  Everard  frowned  and 
looked  anxious.  "Not  for  worlds,"  he  said,  decidedly. 
"  The  nurse  will  be  here  directly.  The  Institution  is  hardly  a 
mile  from  here,  and  Ingram  will  take  a  hansom."  He  spoke 
in  a  low  voice,  but  Mollie  heard  him. 

"  Oh,  father,  is  Mr.  Ingram  here  ?"  she  whispered.  "  How 
sorry  he  will  be  to  hear  I  am  ill!"  And  then  a  sudden 
thought  struck  her,  and  she  beckoned  to  Althea  rather  ex- 
citedly. "Miss  Harford,"  she  said,  in  her  poor,  hoarse 
voice,  "  will  you  do  something  for  me  ?    In  that  small  right- 

217 


Mollie's  Prince 

hand  drawer  behind  you,  you  will  see  a  little  parcel ;  it  is 
directed.     Please  give  it  to  Mr.  Ingram  from  me." 

Althea  secretly  marvelled  at  this,  but  held  her  peace.  When 
the  dainty  white  parcel  was  in  her  hand,  she  said,  gently, — 

"Yes,  dear  Mollie,  he  shall  have  it  directly  he  returns. 
But  now  your  father  does  not  wish  me  to  stay.  Good-bye. 
God  bless  you,  my  child."  And  Althea's  tone  of  faltering 
tenderness  arrested  Everard's  attention. 

"  It  would  not  be  safe.  I  dare  not  let  you  do  anything  for 
her,"  he  said,  very  softly,  as  he  opened  the  door.  "I  will 
stay  with  her  until  the  nurse  comes.  But  please,  go  down  and 
rest."  And  Althea,  who  was  trembling  with  some  strange 
emotion,  obeyed  him  without  a  word. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 
Barmecide's  feast,  and  a  brown  study. 

"Control,  give,  sympathise  :  these  three  must  be  learnt  and  practised: 
self-control,  charity,  and  sympathy." 

Oriental  Saying. 

Althea  was  glad  of  a  few  minutes'  quiet  to  recover  herself, 
for  she  felt  agitated  and  shaken.  The  sight  of  that  comfort- 
less sick-room,  and  Everard's  worn  face  and  haggard  eyes, 
oppressed  and  saddened  her. 

A  perfect  passion  of  pity  for  him  and  his  motherless  girls 
swept  over  her  as  she  closed  the  door.  She  had  left  the  room 
in  answer  to  a  wistful,  pleading  look  from  him  ;  her  presence 
there  evidently  troubled  him,  and  he  was  unwilling  for  her  to 
run  any  risk.  It  was  kind,  it  was  friendly  of  him,  she  thought. 
Everard  always  had  a  good  heart ;  but  at  that  moment  her 
impulsive,  highly  wrought  nature  only  yearned  to  show  her 
sympathy  in  action.  In  spite  of  her  sensitive  nerves,  she  was 
constitutionally  brave,  and  had  no  fear  of  any  form  of  illness. 
"  We  shall  only  die  when  our  time  comes,"  was  a  favourite 
saying  of  hers,  and  neither  she  nor  Doreen  shirked  anything 
that  met  them  in  their  daily  path  of  duty. 

Mollie  was  very  ill,  there  was  little  doubt  of  that,  and  she 
would  probably  be  worse.     The  sight  of  the  sweet,   flushed 

218 


Barmecide's  Feast  and  a  Brown  Study- 
face,  and  the  remembrance  of  the  poor,  thick  voice  would 

haunt  her,   she  knew ;  and  there  was  Waveney But  at 

this  point  the  sound  of  a  hansom  driving  up  rapidly  dispersed 
her  gloomy  thoughts,  and  the  next  moment  Lord  Ralston 
entered  the  room. 

"We  have  got  her!"  he  said,  triumphantly, — "  Nurse 
Helena,  the  best  and  cleverest  nurse  in  the  Institution ;  and 
she  will  be  here  in  ten  minutes.  I  saw  the  matron,  and  there 
is  another  one  coming  at  eleven  to-morrow.  I  shall  go  round 
to  Dr.  Duncan's  house  presently,  and  have  a  talk  with  him. 
We  must  have  Sir  Hindley  Richmond  down,  I  am  determined 
on  that." 

"  Why  not  wait  for  to-morrow?"  returned  Althea,  quietly. 
"  You  are  so  impetuous,  Moritz.  There  is  no  need  for  you 
to  see  Dr.  Duncan  to-night.  Poor  dear  Mollie  is  very  ill — I 
have  just  seen  her;  but  good  nursing  and  the  proper  remedies 
may  do  wonders.  Wait  until  to-morrow — it  will  be  far  better ; 
and  tell  me  what  has  become  of  Noel." 

"  He  is  up  in  his  room  putting  up  his  things.  I  am  going 
to  take  him  round  to  Eaton  Square  directly.  I  shall  stay  there 
myself  for  the  next  week  or  two.  And  you  really  saw  her, 
Althea?  Is  she — does  she  look  very  bad?"  Moritz' s  anxiety 
was  so  intense  he  could  hardly  bring  out  the  words. 

"She  is  evidently  in  great  pain,"  she  returned,  slowly. 
"It  is  impossible  to  judge  at  this  stage.  But  she  was  able  to 
speak  to  me.  Moritz,  she  asked  me  to  give  you  this ;  it  was 
put  away  in  a  drawer,  and  she  told  me  where  to  find  it !"  and 
Althea  handed  him  the  little  white  parcel. 

"For  me!  are  you  sure  it  is  for  me?"  he  asked,  breath- 
lessly. But  Althea,  with  a  faint  smile,  only  pointed  to  the 
direction,  for,  in  Mollie' s  sprawling  handwriting,  was  very 
lightly  inscribed :  "  Mr.  Ingram,  with  Mollie  Ward's  good 
wishes."  Nothing  could  be  more  correct  or  proper.  Then 
why  did  Lord  Ralston's  eyes  brighten  so  strangely,  and  why 
did  a  sudden  smile  of  tender  amusement  come  to  his  lips? 
Because  his  keen  scrutiny  had  detected  something  that  Althea 
had  not  perceived — two  half-obliterated  letters  before  the 
"good":  "lo" — he  could  make  that  out  plainly.  "With 
Mollie  Ward's  love" — that  was  what  she  had  meant  to  write, 
until  her  maidenly  scruples,  and  perhaps  some  sudden  self- 
consciousness,  induced  her  to  change  the  inscription. 

Moritz  walked  off  into  the  inner  room  with  his  treasure. 
Would  Mollie  guess  how  her  lover's  heart  beat  almost  to  suf- 

219 


Mollie's  Prince 

focation  as  he  looked  at  the  white  vellum  book  with  its  clus- 
tering pansies? 

"  Little  darling,"  he  kept  saying  over  and  over  to  himself, 
"  she  must  have  known  they  were  my  favourite  flowers."  And 
then  he  looked  at  the  first  page  and  saw  his  name  prettily 
illuminated.  "Pansies,  that's  for  thoughts,"  was  the  motto 
under  it ;  and  one  or  two  pansies  were  drooping  loosely 
underneath. 

It  was  a  dainty  remembrance.  Mollie  had  evidently  not 
spared  either  time  or  thought  for  her  friend.  It  was  to  be  a 
token  of  her  gratitude  for  all  the  pleasure  Monsieur  Blackie 
had  given  her,  and  for  all  his  lavish  gifts.  But  even  Mollie 
could  not  guess,  in  the  faintest  degree,  the  intense  joy  that 
pansy  pocket-book  gave  Ingram. 

As  he  replaced  it  in  its  cover  his  eyes  were  dim,  and  his 
honest  heart  was  recording  its  vows.  If  Mollie  lived,  her 
life's  happiness,  as  far  as  human  power  could  effect  it,  should 
be  his  task  and  joy.     "My  own  darling,  you  are  beginning 

to  love  me,"  he  thought ;   "and  now "  and  then  there 

was  a  stab  of  pain  through  the  young  man's  heart,  for  how 
could  he  tell  how  long  it  would  be  before  he  saw  "  the  angel 
laughing  out  of  Mollie's  eyes"  again?  When  he  went  back 
into  the  other  room  he  found  Noel  there.  The  nurse  had 
arrived  and  had  gone  up  to  see  her  patient.  And  presently 
Everard  came  down  to  them. 

He  seemed  a  little  surprised  when  Althea  told  him  that 
Noel  was  going  to  stay  with  her  cousin.  "  Moritz  wants  him, 
and  they  will  be  company  for  each  other,"  she  said.  "  It  will 
be  easier  for  him  to  go  from  there  to  St.  Paul's  by-and-bye." 
And  as  this  was  reasonable,  Mr.  Ward  offered  no  objection. 
Then,  at  her  suggestion,  he  sat  down  and  wrote  a  few  tender, 
urgent  words  to  Waveney. 

Althea  took  her  leave  after  this.  She  had  made  another 
fruitless  attempt  to  dissuade  Moritz  from  going  to  Dr.  Duncan  ; 
he  was  utterly  unmanageable.  "I  mean  to  make  a  clean 
breast  to  him,"  he  said,  recklessly.  "  If  he  is  a  sensible  man, 
he  won't  want  any  explanation.  I  shall  tell  him  that  Mr. 
Ward  has  influential  friends,  and  that  they  wish  a  second 
opinion.  Why,  good  heavens,  Althea" — working  himself  up 
to  a  pitch  of  nervous  excitement,  "how  do  we  know  what 
that  poor  child  needs,  and  that  only  money  can  buy?"  And 
then  Althea,  with  a  vivid  remembrance  of  that  bare,  dingy- 
looking  room,  wisely  held  her  peace. 


Barmecide's  Feast  and  a  Brown  Study- 
As  she  drove  off  she  wondered  vaguely,  but  without  much 
interest,  how  Moritz  was  to  keep  up  his  masquerading  at 
Eaton  Square.  Noel  was  a  sharp-witted  lad,  as  he  had  him- 
self said,  and  there  had  been  no  opportunity  of  coaching  the 
servants.  An  old  retainer  of  the  family,  who  had  been  the 
old  viscount's  butler,  took  care  of  the  house  when  it  was  not 
occupied,  and  his  wife  and  one  or  two  maids  kept  a  few 
rooms  always  in  order.  Moritz,  who  was  a  thorough  Bohe- 
mian, had  a  habit  of  running  up  to  town  for  a  night  or  two 
as  the  fancy  seized  him,  and  he  seldom  announced  his  inten- 
tion beforehand.  More  than  once  Mrs.  Barham  had  been 
at  her  wits'  end  to  make  his  lordship  comfortable,  but  she 
soon  got  used  to  his  odd  ways,  and  now,  when  Moritz  arrived 
at  his  town  house,  he  was  sure  of  finding  his  dining-room  and 
library  and  a  couple  of  bedrooms  in  first-rate  order.  Althea 
need  not  have  wondered  if  she  had  listened  to  the  brief  con- 
versation that  took  place  between  Moritz  and  Noel  on  their 
way  to  Eaton  Square. 

It  was  rather  late,  for  Moritz,  like  an  obstinate  man,  had 
had  his  way ;  he  had  left  Noel  in  the  cab  and  had  seen  the 
doctor  alone.  Though  Dr.  Duncan  was  a  sensible  man  and 
no  toady,  he  was  much  impressed  by  Lord  Ralston' s  impetu- 
ous generosity.  He  could  not  deny,  he  said,  that  there  were 
many  things  that  his  patient  required,  though  he  had  forborne 
to  name  them,  as  he  knew  Mr.  Ward  had  small  means.  Sir 
Hindley  Richmond  !  Oh,  certainly,  he  had  no  objection  to 
meet  him;  but  there  was  no  need  for  that  at  present.  He 
would  keep  it  in  mind ;  and  Mr.  Ward  must  he  consulted. 
And  then,  after  a  little  more  talk,  and  a  promise  on  the  doctpr's 
part  to  respect  his  confidence,  the  interview  ceased.  Moritz 
felt  a  little  happier  when  he  jumped  into  the  hansom  again. 
He  thought  Dr.  Duncan  had  spoken  hopefully  of  the  case ; 
and  then,  as  he  looked  at  the  list  in  his  hand,  he  foresaw 
a  delightful  morning's  work  before  him. 

To  rush  from  shop  to  shop,  to  pay  the  highest  price  possible 
for  each  article,  to  order  in  fabulous  quantities  of  the  needed 
commodities,  would  be  purest  joy  to  him.  If  Mollie  recovered 
she  would  find  herself  stocked  for  a  year  or  two  with  eau-de- 
cologne  and  other  good  things. 

"  What  an  age  you  have  been  !"  grumbled  Noel.  The  poor 
lad  was  too  cold  and  hungry  and  miserable  to  mind  his  man- 
ners.    "  Wasn't  the  old  chap  in  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  he  was  in,"  replied  Ingram,  vaguely.     And  then 

221 


Mollie's  Prince 

he  pushed  up  the  little  trap-door  and  told  the  man  to  drive  to 
Number  Fourteen,  Eaton  Square.  "  I  hope  Mrs.  Barhamwill 
be  able  to  give  us  something  to  eat,"  he  continued.  "You 
see,  she  does  not  expect  us,  and  there  may  be  nothing  in  the 
house. ' ' 

Noel's  face  grew  rather  long  at  this. 

"Is  it  your  house?  Do  you  live  there?"  he  asked, 
curiously. 

"Yes,"  returned  Ingram,  "It  is  my  house,  but  I  am  not 
often  there.  I  have  another  house  in  the  country."  And 
then,  rather  abruptly,  "Noel,  lad,  can  you  keep  a  secret — 
honour  bright,  you  know,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing?" 

Then  Noel  looked  up  in  his  face  a  little  suspiciously,  and 
there  was  a  knowing  twinkle  in  his  eyes. 

"Mum's  the  word,"  he  said,  quickly,  "but  I  know  what 
you  are  going  to  say.     Your  name  isn't  Ingram." 

"Oh,  yes,  it  is,"  returned  the  other,  rather  amused  at  this, 
"  only  I  have  another.  It  is  the  family  name.  My  father  was 
Colonel  Ingram,  and  until  eighteen  months  ago  I  was  plain 
Mr.  Ingram." 

"And  now?"  and  there  was  growing  excitement  in  Noel's 
voice. 

"Well,  the  only  difference  is  an  old  cousin  died,  and  so  I 
became  Viscount  Ralston.  Why,  my  boy,"  with  a  little 
chuckling  laugh,  "  I  was  as  poor  as  a  church  mouse  before 
that — poorer  than  your  father.  I  painted  bad  pictures  that 
would  not  sell,  and  lived  in  a  tin  shanty,  hold  hard — don't 
interrupt  me,  for  we  shall  be  at  my  diggings  directly.  I  want 
you  to  understand  that  for  the  present,  at  Cleveland  Terrace 
and  at  the  Red  House,  I  am  still  Mr.  Ingram.  I  have  my 
reasons,  and  some  day  you  shall  know  them  ;  but  I  want  you 
to  promise  that  you  will  not  betray  me."  Then  Noel,  feeling 
utterly  bewildered,  and  not  a  little  mystified,  nodded  an  as- 
sent to  this,  and  the  next  moment  they  stopped  before  one  of 
the  big,  gloomy-looking  houses  in  Eaton  Square.  A  tall, 
grey-haired  old  man  admitted  them. 

"I  have  taken  you  by  surprise,  Barham,"  observed  Lord 
Ralston,  carelessly  ;   "  and  you  see  I  have  brought  a  friend." 

"Yes,  my  lord,"  returned  Barham,  tranquilly.  "And  I 
am  glad  to  say  there  is  a  fire  in  the  library  ;  but  there  is  some- 
thing wrong  with  the  dining-room  chimney,  and  the  workmen 
have  been  there. 

"All  right.  Just  pay  the  cabman."  And  then  Lord  Ral- 
222 


Barmecide's  Feast  and  a  Brown  Study 

ston  led  the  way  to  the  library.  It  was  a  large  room,  and  the 
firelight  played  fitfully  over  the  carved  oak  furniture  and  red 
morocco  chairs.  The  next  moment  the  soft  electric  light 
enabled  Noel  to  see  his  surroundings  more  plainly.  Since  his 
visit  to  the  Red  House  his  views  had  been  considerably  en- 
larged, and  he  at  once  told  himself  that  this  room  beat  Miss 
Harford's  library  hollow.  Lord  Ralston  left  him  for  a  few 
moments.  When  he  returned  he  said,  with  something  of  his 
old  whimsical  dryness, — 

"  I  have  just  been  interviewing  my  worthy  housekeeper, 
and  have  left  her  metaphorically  tearing  her  hair  in  the  larder. 
She  tells  me  that  there  is  literally  nothing  in  the  house,  so  I 
suppose  we  may  expect  Barmecide's  feast." 

Noel  nodded.  He  was  well  acquainted  with  the  story  of 
"The  Barber's  Sixth  Brother,"  and  quite  understood  the 
allusion.  But  the  youthful  pangs  of  hunger  were  so  over- 
mastering that  he  murmured  something  about  bread-and- 
cheese,  and  then  coloured  up  to  the  roots  of  his  hair,  fearing 
that  he  had  taken  a  liberty. 

' '  Oh,  Mrs.  Barham  is  a  woman  of  resources ;  she  will  do 
better  for  us  than  that,"  was  the  indifferent  reply.  "  But  we 
must  exercise  our  patience.  I  will  take  you  up  to  your  room 
now. ' ' 

And  Noel  presently  found  himself  ensconced  in  a  most 
luxurious  chamber,  with  a  bright  fire,  and  everything  prepared 
for  his  comfort. 

"It  is  like  the  '  Arabian  Nights,' "  muttered  the  lad,  when 
his  host  had  left  him.  "To  think  of  my  cheek — Monsieur 
Blackie,  indeed ! ' '  And  then  Noel  sat  on  the  edge  of  the 
chair  and  chuckled.  "A  viscount!  Great  Scott!  Lord 
Ralston  !  My  word,  how  the  pater  and  old  Storm-and- Stress 
will  open  their  eyes  !  To  think  that  '  the  wobbly  one'  will  be 
my  lady  some  day  !"  And  here  Noel  gave  a  long,  low  whis- 
tle, proving  that,  in  spite  of  that  vulgarity,  inherent  in  the 
English  school-boy,  the  embryo  barrister  had  his  wits  about 
him.  "  It  does  not  take  much  eyesight  to  see  a  blank  wall — 
especially  when  it  is  painted  white,  and  the  sun  shines,"  he 
had  observed  once  to  Waveney.  "Any  fool  can  see  that 
chap  is  dead  nuts  on  Mollie" — which  was  forcible  if  a  trifle 
coarse. 

When  Noel  found  his  way  back,  with  some  difficulty,  to 
the  library,  he  saw  a  charming  little  dinner-table  laid  in  readi- 
ness.    Mrs.  Barham  evidently  knew  her  business  well.     The 

223 


Mollie's  Prince 

fish  and  cutlets,  and  sweet  omelette,  were  all  excellent ;  and 
a  wonderful  dessert  followed. 

Lord  Ralston  was  most  kind  and  hospitable,  but  he  was 
hardly  as  good  a  companion  as  usual ;  he  seemed  absent,  and 
was  continually  falling  into  a  brown  study.  When  dinner  was 
over,  and  coffee  had  been  brought,  he  gave  up  all  attempt  to 
be  sociable.  He  even  invited  Noel  to  help  himself  to  a  book, 
and  for  the  remainder  of  the  evening  Lord  Ralston  sat  in 
silence,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  beech-logs,  which  were 
burning  and  sputtering  so  merrily. 

It  was  nearly  dinner-time  at  the  Red  House  when  Althea 
reached  home.  Doreen,  who  was  already  dressed,  was  waiting 
for  her  in  the  library.     Waveney  was  still  up-stairs. 

There  was  a  short  and  hurried  explanation  on  Althea' s  part, 
and  a  few  ejaculations  of  pity  from  Doreen.  Then  she  fol- 
lowed her  sister  up-stairs  and  sent  Peachy  away. 

It  was  one  of  their  pretty  sisterly  ways  to  wait  on  each 
other  occasionally,  and  Althea,  who  was  accustomed  to  this 
loving  ministry,  took  it  calmly  and  as  a  matter  of  course. 
Doreen  wanted  to  talk  to  her,  that  was  all. 

"I  am  so  sorry  you  had  such  a  wretched  afternoon,"  ob- 
served Doreen,  affectionately.  "  Poor  dear,  you  were  hardly 
fit  for  it.  How  was  Mr.  Ward?  I  am  afraid  he  will  be 
dreadfully  anxious." 

"  Anxious  !  I  should  think  so  from  his  looks.  I  should  say 
he  had  had  no  sleep.  Do  you  know,  Dorrie,  I  have  discov- 
ered something  to-day ;  dearly  as  Everard  loves  all  his  chil- 
dren, it  is  Waveney  who  is  the  apple  of  his  eye." 

"He  loves  her  better  than  his  pretty  Mollie?  Oh,  no, 
Althea." 

"Yes,  dear,  I  am  sure  of  it,  and  I  cannot  say  I  am  greatly 
surprised.  Mollie  is  a  dear,  sweet  child,  but  Waveney  is  more 
human  and  spb'ituclley  her  nature  has  greater  depth.  Oh, 
there  is  the  gong.  Please  help  me  to  arrange  this  ruff.  Dor- 
rie, you  must  do  all  the  talking  at  dinner.  Waveney  must 
have  no  hint  of  anything  until  we  have  finished — there  is  the 
shopping  and  your  purchases ;  you  must  make  the  most  of 
those." 

"  So  you  went  out,  after  all?"  was  Waveney's  first  remark, 
when  grace  had  been  said  ;  and  her  voice  was  rather  reproach- 
ful.    "  And  you  promised  that  you  would  have  a  day's  rest !" 

"It  hardly  amounted  to  a  promise,  I  think,"  returned 
Althea,  with  a  forced  smile.     "  One  never  knows  what  may 

224 


Suspense 

turn  up  in  the  day's  work,  and  I  had  to  go  out  on  an  errand 
of  charity.  Well,  how  have  you  enjoyed  your  shopping  ex- 
pedition?" And  this  question  launched  Waveney  at  once 
into  a  lengthy  description  of  all  their  purchases. 

"  It  was  too  late  to  think  of  going  to  Cleveland  Terrace," 
she  finished,  regretfully,  "  so  we  had  tea  at  Fuller's  instead. 
The  cakes  were  delicious.  Oh,  how  I  longed  for  Mollie  to 
be  with  us  !     She  does  so  love  buying  pretty  things." 

"Oh,  I  forgot,"  interposed  Doreen,  abruptly.  "Mrs. 
Craven  was  at  Marshall  &  Snellgrove's,  buying  things  for 
Augusta's  trousseau.  We  had  quite  a  long  talk,  in  the  mantle 
department.  I  have  ordered  a  nice  waterproof  cloak,  Althea; 
it  is  Harris  tweed,  and  your  favourite  grey."  And  so  on, 
discussing  the  merits  of  each  article  purchased  until  dinner 
was  over,  and,  with  an  unmistakable  look  of  relief,  Althea 
rose  from  the  table. 


CHAPTER   XXX. 

SUSPENSE. 

"  Down  thou  climbing  sorrow ! 
Thy  element's  below." 

King  Lear, 

"  Till  now  thy  soul  has  been 
All  glad  and  gay : 
Bid  it  awake,  and  look 
At  grief  to-day." 

Adelaide  Anne  Procter. 

As  Althea  walked  into  the  library,  she  was  aware  that 
Waveney  was  following  her  closely.  Doreen  had  made  some 
excuse  and  had  gone  off  to  her  own  room,  probably  to  write 
letters. 

"  Do  you  want  me  to  read  to  you  to-night?"  asked  Wave- 
ney. She  looked  wonderfully  bright  and  animated  this  even- 
ing. As  she  spoke  she  slipped  her  hand  into  Althea' s  arm,  in 
a  coaxing,  girlish  way.  "  Dear  Miss  Harford,  I  am  not  a  bit 
tired.  I  feel  as  springy  as  possible" — this  being  a  favourite 
word  in  the  Ward  vocabulary  to  express  latent  and  superfluous 
energy. 

15  225 


Mollie's  Prince 

"No,  my  child,  not  to-night,"  returned  Althea,  gravely. 
"  Waveney,  dear,  I  am  afraid  I  have  rather  bad  news  for  you. 
You  were  out  when  the  message  came,  so  I  went  over  to 
Cleveland  Terrace  to  inquire." 

Then  a  troubled,  almost  a  scared  look,  came  into  the  girl's 
eyes. 

"  A  message  !"  she  gasped.  "  Did  they  send  for  me?  Is 
any  one  ill — father?  or "  But  she  did  not  finish  the  sen- 
tence, as  Althea  quietly  handed  her  the  telegram. 

"What  does  it  mean?"  she  asked  in  a  bewildered  tone; 
but  her  lips  were  trembling.  "  Mollie  ill !  But  she  is  never 
ill.  Except  when  we  had  the  measles,  she  has  never  been  in 
bed  a  single  day  for  years.  What  is  it  ?  Why  do  you  not  tell 
me?"  and  Waveney  spoke  in  a  tone  of  intense  irritation. 

"  I  am  waiting,  dear,  until  you  can  listen  to  me,"  returned 
her  friend,  soothingly.  "My  cousin  Moritz  was  with  me 
when  the  telegram  came" — here  Waveney  started — "and  I 
thought — we  both  thought — that  the  best  thing  would  be  for 
me  to  go  over  to  Cleveland  Terrace.  Moritz  went  with  me. 
We  saw  your  father,  and  I  went  up  to  Mollie.  It  is  diph- 
theria— no  one  knows  how  she  has  caught  it.  She  is  ill,  and 
her  throat  is  very  painful,  but  she  could  speak  to  me.  She 
sent  her  love,  and  said  that  you  must  not  think  of  coming  to 
her." 

Then  an  incredulous  smile  crossed  Waveney's  face. 

"  Mollie  said  that,  but  of  course  she  did  not  mean  it ;  the 
idea  is  too  absurd.  If  I  were  not  so  miserable  I  could  laugh 
at  it.  Not  go  to  my  Mollie  when  she  is  ill  and  in  pain  ! 
Has  father  sent  for  Dr.  Duncan,  and  have  they  given  her  a 
fire? — the  room  is  so  cold  !"  Then,  interrupting  herself  with 
sudden  impatience,  "  Why  do  1  stop  to  ask  these  questions 
when  it  is  getting  late?  Oh,  Miss  Harford,  you  ought  to 
have  told  me  before  dinner  !  What  does  that  matter?  But  I 
will  get  ready  now.  And  if  you  will  be  kind  enough  to  send 
for  a  cab,  I  shall  not  be  five  minutes  changing  my  frock" — for 
even  at  the  supreme  moment  some  instinct  told  the  girl  that 
sapphire  blue  velveteen  was  not  quite  suitable  for  a  sick  room. 

Althea  was  quite  shaken  by  Waveney's  impetuosity.  It  was 
evident  that  her  young  companion  had  entirely  forgotten  her 
role ;  her  sole  idea  was  that  Mollie  was  ill,  and  that  nothing 
else  mattered.  She  was  actually  half-way  to  the  door  when 
Althea  called  her  back  in  a  tone  that  arrested  even  her  atten- 
tion. 

226 


Suspense 

"  Waveney,  my  poor  child,  what  are  you  doing?  Did  you 
not  understand  the  telegram  ?  Your  father  will  not  allow  you 
to  go  home — he  told  me  so  himself;  and  here  is  a  note  he 
has  sent  you."  Then  Waveney,  without  a  word,  took  the 
letter. 

"My  precious  Child,"  wrote  Everard,  "we  are  in  sad 
trouble.  Our  dear  Mollie  is  very  ill,  but  Dr.  Duncan  tells  me 
that  it  will  not  be  safe  for  you  to  be  with  her,  and  that  he 
must  have  a  properly  trained  nurse — one  is  coming  in  directly 
— and  then  she  will  have  every  care  and  attention.  Do  not 
come  unless  I  send  for  you ;  it  is  enough  to  have  one  child 
ill,  and  I  will  not  have  you  here,  my  little  Waveney.  I  know 
I  can  trust  you.  Since  you  were  a  baby  you  have  never  given 
me  a  moment's  uneasiness — you  have  been  my  dear,  good 
child,  who  has  always  obeyed  my  least  wishes.  If  you  love 
me,  my  darling,  you  will  be  brave  and  calm.  Miss  Harford 
will  tell  you  everything.  She  is  a  good,  kind  creature,  and  I 
feel  you  will  be  safe  with  her.  You  shall  know  everything : 
nothing  shall  be  kept  from  you — I  promise  you  that  faithfully. 

"  Your  loving 

"Father." 

When  Waveney  had  finished  the  letter,  there  was  despair  in 
her  eyes. 

"  He  is  cruel.  Every  one  is  cruel,"  she  said,  in  a  choked, 
unnatural  voice.  And  then,  with  a  dry  sob,  "  Oh,  why  am  I 
not  lying  there  in  her  place  !" 

"Do  not  say  that,  dear  child,"  returned  Althea,  gently; 
"  for  then  Mollie  would  have  to  suffer."  And  at  this  Wave- 
ney winced. 

"Where  are  you  going?"  Althea  spoke  rather  nervously, 
for  again  the  girl  seemed  about  to  leave  her.  "Oh,  Wave- 
ney, surely  you  will  not  go  against  your  father's  wishes." 
But  she  need  not  have  asked  the  question.  The  loyal  little 
soul  would  have  died  sooner  than  grieve  that  beloved  parent. 

"No,  I  cannot  disobey  father,"  she  said,  in  a  dull  voice; 
and  her  poor  little  face  looked  so  white  and  rigid.  "I  am 
going  to  my  own  room  now." 

"  Will  you  not  stay  and  let  me  talk  to  you  a  little?"  asked 
Althea,  anxiously.  "  You  are  taking  things  too  hardly,  dear. 
Mollie  may  be  better  to-morrow." 

But  she  spoke  to  deaf  ears. 

227 


Mollie's  Prince 


tt 


No,  no.  Please  do  not  keep  me.  I  must  be  alone. 
There  is  no  use  in  talking.  How  do  you  know,  how  does 
any  one  know  about  things?"  and  Waveney  abruptly  turned 
away. 

Althea's  eyes  looked  very  sad  as  the  door  closed  behind 
her.  "I  knew  it,"  she  said  to  herself.  "I  knew  how  she 
would  suffer.  Her  nature  is  intense.  Those  who  love  much, 
suffer  much.  Mollie  and  she  seem  to  have  only  one  heart 
between  them.  It  is  not  so  with  all  twins."  But  the  next 
moment  her  dreary  moralising  was  interrupted ;  for  Waveney 
came  hastily  back  and  stood  by  her. 

"I  did  not  bid  you  good-night,"  she  said,  huskily.  "I 
am  afraid  I  was  rude  and  abrupt;  but  I  did  not  mean  it. 
And  you  are  so  kind,  so  kind." 

Then  Althea  put  her  arms  round  the  girl  and  kissed  her 
tenderly.  "  My  dear,  do  not  trouble  about  that.  I  quite  un- 
derstand. May  I  come  to  you  presently  ?  I  may  be  able  to 
think  of  something  to  comfort  you."  But  Waveney  shook  her 
head. 

"  No :  please  do  not  come.  There  is  no  comfort  for  me 
while  my  Mollie  is  ill  and  suffering ;"  and  Waveney  drew  her 
cold  hands  out  of  Althea's  detaining  grasp.  It  was  sad  to  see 
how  her  step  had  suddenly  lost  its  springiness.  To  be  alone — 
that  was  her  one  thought  now,  as  it  is  the  instinct  of  all  sorely 
wounded  creatures  in  God's  free  world. 

Waveney  never  recalled  that  night  of  misery  without  a 
shudder.  The  sudden  shock  quite  prostrated  her.  That 
Mollie  should  be  ill,  perhaps  dangerously  ill ! — for  every  one 
knew  that  people  died  of  diphtheria :  Princess  Alice  had,  and 
the  butcher's  little  daughter,  and  one  or  two  others  that  she 
and  Mollie  knew — that  Mollie  should  be  ill,  and  that  her  only 
sister  should  not  be  allowed  to  nurse  her ! — this  was  almost 
inconceivable  to  Waveney. 

It  was  this  separation  that  seemed  so  unnatural,  and 
Waveney  chafed  bitterly  against  her  father's  restrictions. 
After  those  first  unguarded  expressions  she  did  not  blame 
him  in  words,  but  again  and  again  in  her  heart  she  accused 
him  of  cruelty. 

"Oh,  father,  how  could  you,  how  could  you!"  she  said 
over  and  over  again  that  night.  "  It  is  not  right,  it  is  not 
fair,  that  you  should  torture  me  like  this.  If  I  were  only 
there  I  should  not  be  so  unnerved  and  frightened,  but  every- 
thing is  worse  when  one  is  kept  away." 

228 


Suspense 


Waveney  was  right  from  her  own  point  of  view.  She 
would  have  been  her  brave,  resolute  little  self  at  Cleveland 
Terrace,  and  Mollie  would  have  had  the  tenderest  and  most 
cheery  of  nurses. 

"I  should  not  have  taken  it.  I  should  have  been  careful 
and  left  the  nurse  to  do  things,"  she  said  later  on.  "  It  was 
just  father's  nervousness." 

Dr.  Duncan's  opinion  she  treated  with  contempt.  It  was 
part  of  a  doctor's  duty  to  say  these  things. 

More  than  once  Althea  crept  to  the  girl's  door;  but  she 
could  hear  nothing.  Once  she  turned  the  handle,  but  the 
door  was  locked.  Waveney,  who  was  still  sitting  huddled  up 
in  the  easy-chair,  heard  the  soft,  retreating  footsteps  go  down 
the  passage  again.  Her  fire  had  burnt  out,  and  she  felt 
strangely  chilled.  "I  may  as  well  go  to  bed,"  she  thought, 
drearily ;  but  it  was  long  before  the  deadly  cold  left  her  limbs. 
Even  when  she  slept,  her  dreams  troubled  her,  and  she  woke 
the  next  morning  to  see  Althea  standing  beside  her  bed  with 
a  cup  of  hot  coffee  in  one  hand,  and  in  her  other  a  yellow 
envelope. 

"Will  you  drink  this,  my  dear?  Doreen  and  I  have  had 
our  breakfast,  but  there  is  no  need  for  you  to  hurry.  If  you 
lie  still  Nurse  Marks  will  bring  you  yours. ' ' 

"Oh,  no,  I  could  not  think  of  such  a  thing,"  returned 
Waveney,  quite  shocked.  "  I  am  not  ill.  I  would  rather  get 
up,  please.     I  am  so  sorry  I  have  overslept  myself;  but  I  was 

late,  and "     Then  she  looked  at  the  telegram  wistfully. 

"Is  that  for  me,  Miss  Harford?" 

"  No,  my  dear,  it  is  for  me.  Moritz  sent  over  to  Cleve- 
land Terrace  quite  early  this  morning.  You  will  see  what  he 
says. 

"  '  Miss  Ward  not  so  well.  A  bad  night.  Shall  wire  for 
Richmond.'  " 

"What  does  it  mean?"  returned  Waveney,  faintly,  and  her 
head  sank  back  on  the  pillow.     "  I  don't  understand  it." 

"It  means  that  you  and  Mollie  have  a  good  friend,"  re- 
turned Althea,  sitting  down  beside  her,  "a  very  kind  and 
generous  friend.  Moritz  wants  to  help  you  all.  Sir  Hindley 
Richmond  is  the  great  throat  doctor.  He  is  wonderfully 
clever,  and  some  of  his  cures  are  marvellous;  but  his  fees 
are  immense,  and  of  course  Moritz  knows  that  Mr.  Ward 
could  not  afford  to  have  him,  so  he  is  arranging  it  with  Dr. 
Duncan." 

229 


Mollie's  Prince 

"But  we  have  no  right — we  have  no  claim  on  Mr.  In- 
gram, ' '  stammered  Waveney.  ' '  But  he  is  doing  it  for  Mollie's 
sake." 

She  said  it  quite  simply.  In  her  own  mind  it  had  long 
been  an  assured  fact  that  Mr.  Ingram  was  her  sister's  lover. 
How  could  any  one  mistake  such  devotion? 

"Yes,  he  is  doing  it  for  Mollie's  sake,"  returned  Althea, 
with  equal  frankness.  "Poor  fellow!  he  is  very  unhappy 
about  her,  and  his  only  comfort  is  to  do  her  service." 

And  Althea  smiled  a  little  as  she  thought  of  that  tender 
and  fantastic  chivalry  with  which  Moritz  was  wooing  his 
beautiful  Mollie. 

"  I  will  get  up  now,"  Waveney  observed,  restlessly.  Mol- 
lie was  not  so  well.  It  would  drive  her  frantic  to  lie  still 
and  think  of  that.  She  would  dress  and  go  out.  Miss 
Althea  was  too  kind  to  think  of  asking  her  to  write  and  read. 
She  could  not  sit  still.  She  must  have  air  and  movement. 
But  though  she  said  no  word  of  this,  Althea  understood  her 
perfectly. 

"We  must  leave  her  alone,"  she  said,  rather  sadly,  to 
Doreen.  "Her  nerves  are  unhinged  by  the  suspense,  and 
she  is  not  used  to  trouble. 

"  I  shall  drive  down  to  Cleveland  Terrace,"  she  continued, 
"on  my  way  to  Aunt  Sara.  There  may  be  some  little  thing 
Mollie  requires,  and  Waveney  will  be  glad  of  news."  She 
spoke  rather  hurriedly,  as  though  she  feared  Doreen  might 
raise  some  objection.  But  Doreen,  who  could  read  her  sister 
like  a  book,  merely  nodded  assent. 

So  all  the  morning  Waveney  wandered  about  the  common 
like  a  little  lost  spirit,  until  her  limbs  ached  with  weariness; 
and  after  luncheon  Noel  arrived. 

Mr.  Ingram  had  sent  him,  he  said,  bringing  out  the  words 
rather  sheepishly.  They  had  been  shopping  all  the  morn- 
ing, tearing  up  and  down  Regent's  Street  and  Bond  Street  in 
a  hansom,  and  they  had  had  luncheon  at  the  Army  and  Navy 
Stores.  Then  they  had  called  at  the  door  of  Number  Ten, 
and  Noel  had  seen  his  father.  Things  were  much  the  same, 
and  he  sent  his  love,  and  so  on. 

Althea  had  already  started  when  Noel  made  his  appear- 
ance, so  it  was  too  late  to  prevent  her  fruitless  journey  to 
Chelsea. 

There  was  nothing  Mollie  wanted,  Noel  declared,  bluntly, 
and  he  chuckled  as  he  thought  of  all  the  things  Ingram  had 

230 


Suspense 

ordered.  "  My  word,  there's  no  mistake  about  his  being  a 
viscount,"  he  thought.  "If  he  turned  out  to  be  a  duke  I 
should  hardly  be  surprised." 

Waveney  was  very  fond  of  her  young  brother,  but  his  so- 
ciety failed  to  give  her  comfort  j  and  Noel,  on  his  side,  was  so 
awed  and  depressed  by  her  sad  face  and  unusual  silence,  that 
he  could  find  little  to  say.  It  was  quite  a  relief  when  his  visit 
was  over,  and  he  had  to  return  to  Eaton  Square. 

But  one  word  he  did  say  as  Waveney  followed  him  into  the 
hall. 

"I  say,  Wave,  I  suppose  you  will  send  your  compliments  or 
kind  regards  to  Mr.  Ingram"— and  here  Noel  cleared  his 
throat.      "  He  is  awfully  cut  up,  you  know,  and  all  that." 

"Oh,  yes,  you  may  give  him  my  kind  regards,"  returned 
Waveney,  in  a  listless  tone.  Then  her  conscience  accused 
her  of  ingratitude.  "Yes,  certainly,  Noel,  my  kindest  re- 
gards. I  know  how  good  he  has  been ;  he  is  actually  going 
to  have  that  great  throat  doctor  down  to  see  dear  Mollie." 

"I  know  that,"  replied  Noel,  mysteriously.  "I  know  a 
thing  or  two  that  would  make  you  stare.  He  is  a  good  old 
sort ;  he  is  as  good  as  they  make  them,  and  he  deserves  to 
turn  up  trumps."  And  with  this  peculiar  form  of  blessing— 
which  was  nevertheless  genuine  in  its  way — Noel  adjusted  his 
pince-nez,  and  marched  off  with  his  head  in  the  air  as  usual. 

When  Althea  returned,  she  had  very  little  to  add  to  this. 
Mollie  was  no  better,  certainly,  and  Dr.  Duncan  was  un- 
doubtedly anxious  about  her ;  but  she  had  excellent  nurses, 
and  Sir  Hindley  Richmond  was  to  come  the  next  day. 

There  had  been  some  hitch  or  difficulty,  and  Moritz  had 
been  much  put  out.  Althea  was  in  the  dark  about  it,  for  Mr. 
Ward  had  volunteered  no  explanation. 

"  Sir  Hindley  Richmond  is  coming  to-morrow,"  was  all  he 
said.  "Mr.  Ingram  insists  on  it.  He  wired  for  him  to- 
day, but  there  was  some  difficulty,  and  Ingram  fussed  awfully 
about  it.  I  am  not  allowed  to  put  in  a  word, ' '  he  continued,  with 
a  feeble  attempt  at  a  smile.  "The  doctor  and  nurses  manage 
everything  ;  all  sorts  of  things  come  to  the  house.  Of  course 
Ingram  sends  them,  and  if  I  remonstrate,  I  am  told  that  tiie 
doctor  ordered  them,  or  that  Nurse  Helena  wished  for  it." 

Althea  was  the  bearer  of  another  sad  little  missive  from 

Everard.     Waveney  carried  it  off  to  her  own  room.    She  was 

still  reading  it  with  dry,  tearless  eyes  when  the  gong  sounded. 

"Do  not  lose  heart,   my  darling,"   it  finished.      "It  is 

231 


Mollie's  Prince 

always  darkest  before  day.  We  will  pray  to  our  Heavenly 
Father  that  our  sweet  Mollie  may  be  spared."  Waveney  was 
repeating  this  sentence  over  and  over  again,  as  she  sat  at  the 
dinner-table.  And  Althea,  seeing  that  she  ate  nothing,  told 
Mitchell  to  fill  her  glass  with  Burgundy. 

"You  must  take  that,  my  dear,  and  some  of  this  nice  light 
roll.  If  you  make  yourself  ill,  it  will  only  give  additional 
trouble. ' ' 

Althea  spoke  with  such  quiet  decision  that  Waveney  was 
compelled  to  obey.  As  she  sipped  the  wine  a  tinge  of  colour 
came  into  her  lips.  But  the  bread  was  sadly  crumbled  on  her 
plate.  As  she  rose  from  the  table  her  knees  trembled  under 
her,  and  she  almost  tottered  as  she  followed  Althea. 

Last  night  about  this  time  she  had  told  her.  What  a  night- 
mare of  horror  these  four-and -twenty  hours  had  been  ! 

No  wonder  she  felt  giddy — no  wonder — but  here  Althea 
took  possession  of  her  with  gentle  force. 

"  Sit  down,  Waveney.  Why,  you  foolish  child,  you  have 
over-walked  yourself,  and  eaten  nothing,  and  of  course  you 
feel  bad."  And  before  Waveney  could  summon  up  sufficient 
energy  to  contradict  this,  she  found  herself  lying  on  the 
library  couch,  with  the  softest  of  pillows  under  her  head  and 
a  warm  quilt  over  her. 

(i  Doreen  and  I  are  going  across  to  the  Porch  House,"  ob- 
served Althea,  kissing  her.  "It  is  Thursday  evening.  But 
dear  old  Nursie  will  look  after  you. ' ' 

"  Thank  you.  But  she  need  not  trouble,"  returned  Wave- 
ney, drowsily.     "I  am  quite  well,  only  tired." 

Every  one  was  very  kind,  she  thought.  And  Miss  Althea, 
how  dear  and  good  she  was  !  After  all,  it  was  very  comfort- 
able to  lie  still.  The  silence,  the  firelight,  the  soft  warmth, 
were  so  soothing.  Why  were  the  bees  humming  so  ?  Bee- 
hives and  libraries  were  surely  incongruous.  And  there  were 
white  lilies,  too,  nid-nodding  at  each  other.  And  the  writing- 
table  had  gone,  and  there  was  a  bed  of  pansies.  ' '  Pansies, 
that's  for  thoughts,"  she  said  to  herself.  For,  little  as  she 
knew  it,  Waveney  was  fast  asleep. 


232 


Down  by  the  River 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

DOWN   BY   THE   RIVER. 

"  Only  upon  some  cross  of  pain  and  woe, 
God's  Son  may  lie. 
Each  soul  redeemed  from  self  and  sin,  must  have 
Its  Calvary." 

Anon. 

"The  Porch  House  Thursdays,"  as  they  were  called,  had 
become  red  letter  days  in  Thorold  Chay tor's  life.  Ever  since 
that  wet  Christmas  Eve  when  he  had  partaken  of  "cakes  and 
ale' '  in  the  hall  at  the  Red  House,  he  had  looked  forward  to 
them  with  an  intensity  that  had  surprised  himself.  Little  had 
he  thought,  when  he  had  generously  given  a  few  hours  of  his 
scanty  leisure  to  help  Althea  in  her  good  work,  that  such  deep 
enjoyment  would  be  the  result,  and  that  he  would  actually 
count  the  hours  until  he  could  see  a  certain  curly  head  bend- 
ing over  the  book.  If  only  any  one  had  guessed  how  his  heart 
always  leaped  at  the  sight ! 

Thorold' s  life  until  now  had  been  laborious  and  joyless. 
His  home  was  utterly  uncongenial  to  him.  He  loved  his 
sister,  but  there  was  no  real  sympathy  between  them,  and,  as 
he  would  often  say  bitterly  to  himself,  "  Joa  cares  more  for 
Trist's  little  finger  than  for  me;"  and  he  was  right.  Joanna 
was  one  of  those  women  whose  short-sighted  tenderness  makes 
them  lavish  their  best  affection  on  some  prodigal,  or  black 
sheep. 

Perhaps  the  fault  might  lie  a  little  with  Thorold.  His  calm, 
self-controlled  nature  was  somewhat  repressive  ;  few  people 
understood  him,  or  guessed  that  underneath  the  quiet,  un- 
demonstrative surface,  there  was  a  warm,  passionate  heart. 
Perhaps  only  Althea  knew  it;  and  even  she  was  in  error 
about  him,  for  she  thought  that  his  intellect  dominated  his 
heart ;  but  in  this  she  was  wrong. 

Thorold  Chaytor  was  a  keenly  ambitious  man  ;  he  loved  his 
work  for  its  own  sake ;  but  he  was  also  desirous  of  success. 

As  he  knew  well,  his  feet  were  on  the  first  rung  of  the 
ladder.     His  literary  work  was  already  meeting  with  apprecia- 

233 


Mollie's  Prince 

tion,  and  now  he  held  his  first  brief.  The  first  cold  breakers 
had  been  passed,  and  the  bold  swimmer  had  his  head  well 
above  water.  Poverty  would  soon  be  a  thing  of  the  past. 
But  even  as  he  grasped  this  fact  gratefully,  he  was  aware  that 
fresh  responsibilities  fettered  him. 

Tristram  and  Betty  were  on  his  hands.  It  would  be  long, 
probably  years,  before  Tristram  would  be  able  to  provide  a 
comfortable  home  for  his  child,  and  when  they  quitted  his 
roof  he  clearly  foresaw  that  Joanna  would  go  with  them. 
Nothing  would  part  her  from  Betty. 

But,  for  years  to  come,  how  was  he  to  marry?  Would 
any  girl  care  to  enter  that  incongruous  household?  Would 
he  wish  to  bring  her?  He  was  a  man  who  would  want  his 
wife  to  himself,  who  must  have  all  or  none.  No  one  must  in- 
terfere with  his  monopoly.  And  then,  with  a  pang  of  proud 
sensitiveness,  he  told  himself  that  the  thing  was  impossible. 
Nevertheless,  the  Porch  House  Thursdays  were  his  high  days 
and  festivals. 

As  he  walked  up  the  hill,  in  the  darkness,  some  new,  strange 
feeling  was  throbbing  at  his  heart ;  a  sudden  yearning  to 
know  his  fate.  It  was  no  use  to  delude  himself  with  sophis- 
tries, or  to  cheat  himself  any  longer.  The  first  moment  he 
had  looked  into  the  depth  of  those  wonderful  eyes  he  knew 
that  he  loved  Waveney,  as  such  men  only  love  once  in  their 
lives ;  and  he  knew  now,  too  well,  that  he  must  win  her  for 
his  wife,  or  for  ever  live  solitary. 

His  mind  was  in  a  chaotic  state  this  evening.  A  subtle 
form  of  temptation  was  assailing  him.  Why  should  it  be 
hopeless?  True,  he  could  not  marry  for  years;  but  what  if 
he  were  to  tell  her  that  he  loved  her,  and  ask  her  to  wait  for 
him,  as  other  women  had  waited? 

He  dallied  with  this  thought  a  moment.  "  Give  me  a 
little  hope,"  he  would  say  to  her;  "it  will  strengthen  my 
hands,  and  I  shall  fight  the  battle  of  life  more  bravely.  Let 
me  feel  that  I  am  no  longer  lonely."  But  even  as  the  words 
crossed  his  lips,  he  chid  himself  for  his  selfishness.  Why 
should  he  bind  down  that  bright  young  life,  and  condemn 
her  to  years  of  wearisome  waiting?  Why  should  his  burdens 
be  laid  on  her  young  shoulders  ?  How  could  he  know  what 
the  years  would  bring?  His  health  might  fail.  And  then, 
in  a  mood  of  dogged  hopelessness,  he  let  himself  into  the 
little  gate  that  led  to  the  tennis  ground  and  the  Porch  House. 
Little  did  he  guess,  as  he  passed  the  lighted  window  of  the 

234 


Down  by  the  River 


library,  that  the  objects  of  his  thoughts  lay  there  sleeping  for 
sorrow. 

But  his  first  glance,  as  he  entered  the  Recreation  Hall, 
showed  him  that  the  chair  by  Nora  Greenwell  was  empty, 
and  his  face  was  graver  and  more  impassive  than  ever  as  he 
took  up  his  book.  But  more  than  once  that  evening,  as  he 
heard  the  latch  lifted  in  the  adjoining  room,  he  lifted  his 
head,  and  his  wistful  look  was  fixed  on  the  opening  door. 
But  no  little  figure  in  sapphire  blue  came  lightly  into  the 
room. 

As  soon  as  his  duties  were  over  Thorold  crossed  the  room 
to  Althea. 

"Where  is  Miss  Ward?"  he  asked,  quietly.  And  Althea, 
who  knew  he  had  personal  interest  in  all  his  pupils,  took  the 
question  as  a  matter  of  course. 

"  I  thought  you  would  have  heard,"  she  said,  a  little  sadly. 
"  The  poor  child  is  in  great  trouble."  And  then  she  gave 
him  a  brief  account  of  the  last  two  days. 

Thorold's  face  paled  a  little.     He  was  extremely  shocked. 

"Her  twin  sister — that  beautiful  girl  I  saw  in  Old  Ranelagh 
gardens  ?' ' 

"Yes,"  returned  Althea,  sorrowfully.  "I  really  think 
Mollie  Ward  has  the  sweetest  face  I  have  ever  seen.  Oh,  I 
do  not  wonder  that  Waveney  loves  her  so.  She  is  suffering 
cruelly,  poor  child ;  but  her  father  will  not  allow  her  to  go 
home." 

"No,  of  course  not,"  he  returned,  so  quickly  that  Althea 
glanced  at  him.  "He  is  right,  quite  right.  Diphtheria  is 
terribly  infectious.  She  might  be  ill,  too.  Good  heavens ! 
No  one  in  their  sense  would  expose  a  girl  to  such  a  risk." 
And  Thorold  spoke  in  a  low,  vehement  tone  of  suppressed 
feeling;  but  Althea  was  too  much  engrossed  with  her  own 
painful  train  of  thoughts  to  notice  his  unusual  emotion. 

"No;  you  are  right,"  she  replied.  "They  must  be  kept 
apart.  But,  Thorold,  it  makes  my  heart  ache  to  see  her, 
poor  child  !  It  is  impossible  for  any  one  to  comfort  her. 
I  can  do  nothing  with  her." 

Then  Thorold's  firm  lips  twitched  a  little. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  he  said,  in  a  quick  undertone  ;  "  more  sorry 
than  I  can  say.  Will  you  tell  her  so,  please?  Good-night. 
I  must  go  home  and  work."  And  then  he  went  off  hastily, 
forgetting  that  it  was  his  usual  custom  to  help  Althea  ex- 
tinguish the  lights,  and  to  walk  down  the  dark  garden  with 

235 


Mollie's  Prince 

her;  but  Althea,  sad  and   pre-occupied,  hardly  noticed  this 
desertion  on  Thorold's  part. 

The  evening  had  seemed  a  long  one  to  her ;  her  thoughts 
were  in  poor  Mollie's  sick  room.  Down  below  a  lonely, 
anxious  man  sat  by  his  solitary  fire.  "God  comfort  him," 
she  said  to  herself,  softly,  as  she  rose  from  her  seat. 

The  next  few  days  dragged  heavily  on — days  so  dim  with 
fear  and  anguish  that  for  many  long  years  Waveney  never 
willingly  alluded  to  that  time,  when  the  mere  mention  of  it 
drove  the  colour  from  her  face.  Even  Mollie,  suffering 
tortures  patiently,  hardly  suffered  more  than  Waveney. 

Sir  Hindley  Richmond  had  paid  his  visit,  but  had  spoken 
very  guardedly  about  the  case.  There  were  complications. 
It  was  impossible  to  say.  A  great  deal  depended  upon 
nursing.  He  would  come  again — yes,  certainly,  if  Mr.  In- 
gram wished  it ;  and  then  the  great  doctor  drove  off. 

Everard  took  the  news  to  the  Red  House.  Perhaps  he 
needed  comfort  himself,  and  pined  for  a  sight  of  his  darling. 
But  Waveney' s  changed  looks  and  languid  step  filled  him 
with  dismay. 

She  came  to  him  silently,  and  as  he  took  her  in  his  arms  a 
sob  burst  from  his  lips.  "  Waveney,  you  will  break  my 
heart.     Have  pity  on   your  poor   father.      I  have  but  two 

daughters,    and   Mollie "     And  here   he   could   say  no 

more.     Waveney  put  her  hands  on  his  shoulders  ,   .*    "  were 

cold  as  ice,  and  her  eyes  had  the  fixed,  h 

who  walks  in  her  sleep.  ^-a  on- 

"  Father,  is  Mollie  dying?"     Her  voice  wa  ^e  sa^ 

Everard  started  in  horror.  tne 

"My   darling   child,    no — God   forbid   that   sucn 
should  be  ours ;  but  she  is  very  ill,  and  I  am  afraid  Sir  ±- 
ley  Richmond  thinks  very  gravely  of  the  case.      There  are 
complications  ;  but  he  will  come  again.     Ingram  insists  on  it. 
They  are  nursing  her  splendidly.      Everything  depends  on 
that. ' '     But  it  may  be  doubted  if  Waveney  heard  this. 

"Father,"  she  said,  in  the  same  dull  voice,  "I  want  you 
to  make  me  a  promise.  If  there  is  no  hope,  if  Sir  Hindley 
says  so,  promise  me  that  I  shall  see  her — before — before — you 
know  what  I  mean." 

"  Oh,  Waveney,  r  Waveney,  for  God's  sake  do  not 

ask  me  that !"  and         Ui-      .iook  with  emotion. 

"But  I  do  ask  u  s  a  then  her  arms  went  round  his 
neck  in  a  sudden  p.  .'  pleading.     "Father,  I  will  be 

236 


Down  by  the  River 

good — I  will  not  go  near  or  kiss  her ;  but  her  dear  eyes  must 
see  me — she  must  know  that  I  am  there.  Father,  if  you  love 
me,  you  will  not  refuse."  And  then,  with  a  choking  sob, 
poor  Everard  gave  reluctant  consent. 

Very  little  more  passed  between  them,  when  Everard  said 
he  must  go ;  Waveney  made  no  attempt  to  keep  him.  For 
the  first  time  in  her  life  her  father's  presence  failed  to  comfort 
her,  and  instinctively  he  realised  this. 

"  Take  care  of  yourself  for  my  sake,"  he  said,  as  he  kissed 
and  blessed  her ;  but  she  made  no  answer  when  he  left  her. 
She  paced  up  and  down  the  room  restlessly.  Movement — 
that  was  her  sole  relief;  and  bodily  fatigue — that  would  make 
her  sleep.  Once  she  pressed  her  face  against  the  window  and 
looked  out  at  the  darkness.  "  Mollie  is  dying,"  she  said  to 
herself,  "and  perhaps  the  dear  Lord  will  let  me  die,  too;" 
and  then  she  smiled  at  the  thought,  and  resumed  her  pacing 
to  and  fro  in  the  firelight. 

As  Everard  stumbled  out  of  the  room,  Althea  opened  the 
door  of  the  library  and  beckoned  to  him.  She  had  no  need 
to  ask  him  any  question ;  one  glance  at  his  face  was  enough. 
"  Mr.  Ward,"  she  said,  in  her  soft  voice,  "I  cannot  let  you 
go  like  this.  Sit  down  by  the  fire,  and  I  will  give  you  a  nice 
hot  cup  of  coffee.  You  always  liked  coffee  better  than  tea,  I 
remember." 

""       arpvo-vgQQ^"  he  returned,  in  a  hesitating  voice. 

ious  to  get   back  to  my  poor  child.     Dr. 

a  comi-.0  at  six,  and  Ingram  will  be  round  for 

jmd  not  keep  you  for  worlds,"  replied  Althea, 
.  "  But  you  must  drink  this  first ;  and  there  is  no  need 
•nnk  it  standing."  And  then,  with  a  half-smile,  Everard 
yielded.  The  beautiful  room,  the  soft  lamplight,  the  quiet 
face  and  kindly  ministering  hands  of  his  old  friend,  gave  him 
a  sudden  feeling  of  warmth  and  repose.  He  felt  like  a  tired 
child  brought  out  of  the  cold  and  darkness.  As  he  drank  his 
coffee,  the  numb,  strained  feeling  gave  way. 

"Miss  Harford,"  he  said,  suddenly,  "it  makes  me  miser- 
able to  see  Waveney." 

"Ah  !"  she  returned,  quickly  *TS  afraid  you  would  say 

that.     But  the  poor  chilu  is  not  She  is  stunned  with 

trouble.    .  When  we   talk  to  he?  .       not  seem  to  hear 

what  we  say.     Doreen  spoke  to  .le  sharply,  to-day," 

she  went  on.     "She  did  it  to  ler ;  but,  of  course,  I 

237 


1 


f 


Mollie's  Prince 

told  her  that  it  would  be  useless.  When  she  had  finished, 
Waveney  merely  looked  at  her,  and  then  went  out  of  the 
room.  And  Doreen  was  so  afraid  she  had  hurt  her  that  she 
followed  her  to  say  something  kind.  Waveney  seemed  quite 
astonished.  'You  have  not  hurt  me,  oh,  no  !'  she  said.  'It 
is  I  who  am  rude,  for  I  did  not  hear  half  you  said.  When  I 
try  to  listen,  my  head  pains  me,  and  I  get  confused.  But  I 
think  nothing  hurts  me.'  " 

Everard  sighed.  "  What  are  we  to  do  with  her?"  he  asked, 
in  a  despairing  voice. 

"  Dear  Mr.  Ward,"  returned  Althea,  in  her  flute-like  voice, 
"  we  can  do  nothing  but  love  her,  and  pray  for  her.  She  and 
her  dear  Mollie,  too,  are  in  God's  hands — not  ours.  Try  to 
trust  them  both  to  Him."  And  then  Everard  looked  grate- 
fully in  her  face. 

"  She  is  a  sweet  woman,"  he  said  to  himself,  as  he  walked 
towards  the  station.  "  I  wonder  why  she  has  never  married  ?' ' 
But  no  suspicion  of  the  truth  entered  his  mind. 

Moritz  used  to  send  Noel  up  to  the  Red  House  nearly  every 
day.  But  he  never  came  himself.  He  spent  most  of  his  time 
at  Number  Ten,  Cleveland  Terrace. 

Everard  took  very  kindly  to  his  visits.     Moritz  turned  up 
at  all  hours,  with  all  sorts  of  excuses.     He  would  send  up 
messages  to  the  nurses,  and  very  often  would  waylay  Nurse 
Helena  in  the  road  outside.    Nurse  Helena,  who  had  a  kindly, 
womanly  nature,  would  smile  a  little  sadly,  as  she  walk0'1 
"  He  does  not  know,  poor  man,  that  he  has  a  rival,"  si. 
to  herself.     "  There  is  a  Monsieur  Blackie.     I  have  heara 
name  often.     But,  poor  child,  what  does  it  matter?"     And 
here  Nurse  Helena  shook  her  comely  head.     For  that  day, 
dear,  sweet  Mollie  was  at  her  worst.     And  Moritz  was  like  a 
man  distracted. 

That  afternoon  Thorold  Chaytor  came  home  unusually 
early.  He  was  bringing  his  work  with  him.  Joanna  and 
Betty  were  spending  the  day  with  a  friend  at  Richmond,  and 
Tristram  had  promised  to  join  them  in  the  evening,  so  he 
would  have  the  house  to  himself. 

It  was  nearly  four  o'clock,  but  down  by  the  river  there  was 
still  light.  The  water  had  .  cold,  steely  gleam  on  it,  and  the 
black  hulls  of  the  boats  -1  awn  up  on  shore,  Ic^'ed  hard  and 
forbidding.  There  wa  .  touch  of  frost  in  the  aii,  and  as 
Thorold  lingered  for  a  foment  on  the  bridge,  he  was  sur- 
prised to  see  a  solitary  figure  on  the  towing-path.     The  ne*t 

238 


Down  by  the  River 

moment  he  uttered  an  exclamation,  and  then  walked  rapidly 
in  the  same  direction ;  his  keen,  far-sighted  eyes  had  recog- 
nised the  pedestrian. 

Waveney's  restlessness  had  amounted  almost  to  disease  that 
day  ;  she  simply  could  not  sit  still.  All  the  morning  she  had 
been  wandering  over  the  common  with  the  little  dogs  running 
beside  her,  and  the  moment  luncheon  was  over  she  started  off 
on  an  errand  to  the  Model  Lodging-house. 

Her  limbs  ached  with  fatigue,  but  a  streak  of  red  sunset, 
casting  a  glow  on  the  river,  attracted  her  irresistibly,  and 
though  the  light  had  long  faded,  and  the  air  was  chill  and 
damp,  she  still  paced  up  and  down ;  but  she  started,  and  a 
sudden  giddiness  came  over  her,  as  a  deep  voice  accosted  her. 

"Miss  Ward,  is  thiswise  or  right?  Have  you  no  regard 
for  your  health?"  and  Thorold's  voice  was  unusually  stern; 
but  even  in  that  dim  light,  the  drawn  pallor  of  her  face  fright- 
ened him  Could  sickness  and  sorrow  of  heart  have  wrought 
this  change  in  these  few  days  ? 

"Perhaps  I  have  walked  too  much,"  she  returned,  faintly. 
"  I  am  so  fond  of  walking,  and  the  river  is  so  beautiful,  and 
there  is  nothing  else  to  do."  And  then  a  sudden  impulse  of 
self-preservation  made  her  catch  at  his  arm.  "  I  am  so  giddy, ' ' 
she  said,  in  a  tired  little  voice.  "  If  I  only  could  sit  down 
a  moment !" 

"  There  is  a  seat  near,"  he  returned,  quietly  ;  "let  me  help 
you."  And  then  his  strong  arm  almost  lifted  her  off  the 
ground.  The  next  moment  she  was  on  the  bench  ;  but  his 
arm  was  still  around  her.  She  was  not  faint ;  her  eyes  were 
wide  open  and  fixed  on  the  water,  but  her  strength  had  gone, 
and,  as  far  as  he  could  judge,  she  seemed  scarcely  conscious 
of  her  surroundings.  She  even  submitted  like  a  child  when 
he  drew  her  head  against  his  shoulder. 

"  Do  not  try  to  speak.  It  will  pass,  and  you  will  be  better 
soon."  And  then  he  felt  her  pulse.  The  feeble  beats  spoke 
of  utter  exhaustion.  Very  likely  she  had  eaten  nothing  all 
day.  There  was  only  one  thing  to  be  done.  She  must  be 
warmed  and  fed,  and  then  he  must  take  her  home. 

"Do  you  think  you  could  walk  a  little  now?"  he  asked, 
when  a  few  minutes  had  passed,  and  the  cold  breeze  from  the 
river  seemed  to  pierce  through  him.  "It  is  not  safe  to  sit 
any  longer.  There  is  a  frost  to-night,  and  we  have  only  such 
a  little  way  to  go.      Will  you  try? — and  I  will  help  you." 

"Oh,  yes,  why  not?"  returned  Waveney,  dreamily.     "But 

239 


Mollie's  Prince 

it  is  not  a  little  way  to  the  Red  House,  is  it?"  And  then  she 
rose  stiffly,  and  if  Thorold  had  not  held  her  she  would  have 
fallen.  "  Why  am  I  like  this?"  she  panted.  "  I  have  never 
been  weary  before." 

"You  have  walked  too  far,"  was  his  sole  answer,  "and 
you  are  numb  with  cold."  And  then,  half-supporting,  half- 
carrying  her  in  his  man's  strength,  they  reached  the  bridge. 

Under  the  gaslight  he  saw  she  had  revived  a  little,  and 
then  he  made  her  take  his  arm.  The  town  was  lighted,  and 
there  were  plenty  of  passers-by;  but,  happily,  there  was  not 
far  to  go.  More  than  once,  even  in  that  short  distance,  he 
was  obliged  to  let  her  pause  for  a  minute. 

As  he  opened  the  little  gate,  she  pressed  his  arm  feebly. 

"  Oh,  not  here,"  she  said.  "  I  must  go  home.  Please  do 
not  make  me  go  in ;  please — please,  Mr.  Chaytor. ' ' 

"My  dear  child,  can  you  not  trust  me?"  was  all  his 
answer.  "  Do  not  fear.  I  mean  to  take  you  home."  And, 
somehow,  his  calm,  authoritative  voice  seemed  to  control  her 
at  once. 


CHAPTER    XXXII. 


"  Nothing  begins  and  nothing  ends 
That  is  not  paid  with  moan, 
For  we  are  born  in  other's  pain 
And  perish  in  our  own." 

Thompson. 

"  He  had  a  face  like  a  benediction." 

Cervantes. 

In  spite  of  her  terrible  exhaustion,  Waveney  instinctively 
dreaded  the  surprised  looks  and  curious  questionings  which 
she  feared  awaited  her.  The  idea  of  Joanna's  pity  and  Betty's 
welcoming  caresses  seemed  alike  repugnant  j  and  when  Thor- 
old opened  the  parlour  door,  she  drew  back  as  though  afraid 
to  enter ;  but  he  gently  led  her  in. 

"They  are  all  out,"  he  said,  quietly;  "but  you  can  rest 
and  get  warm."  And  then  he  drew  up  an  easy-chair  to  the 
fire  and  placed  her  in  it,  and  brought  her  a  footstool ;  the  next 

240 


"I  Will  Never  be  Faithless  Again" 

moment,  with  careful  hands,  he  removed  her  hat,  and  put  a 
cushion  under  her  head;  then  he  drew  off  her  gloves,  and 
gently  rubbed  her  benumbed  fingers. 

Waveney  submitted  to  it  all  passively.  The  warmth  and 
stillness  soothed  her,  in  spite  of  herself.  When  Thorold  left 
the  room  to  speak  to  Jemima,  she  rested  her  weary  head 
against  the  soft  cushion  and  closed  her  eyes.  How  kind  he 
was ! — how  kind  every  one  was  !  And  then,  all  of  a  sudden, 
great  tears  welled  up  in  her  eyes.  The  little  parlours,  with 
their  drawn  crimson  curtains  and  bright  fire,  seemed  to  fade 
from  her  sight.  She  was  sitting  on  a  bench  in  Old  Ranelagh 
gardens,  and  Mollie  was  beside  her.  The  sunlight  was  filter- 
ing through  the  limes,  the  children  were  flitting  to  and  fro 
like  butterflies.  "  Here  he  is — the  noticeable  man,  with  large 
grey  eyes,"  she  was  saying ;  and  she  could  hear  Mollie's  sweet, 
scornful  laughter  in  reply. 

"  Dear  Miss  Ward,  please  drink  this ;  it  will  warm  you  and 
do  you  good."  Thorold  spoke  in  a  clear,  persuasive  voice. 
But  as  Waveney  opened  her  eyes,  the  tears  were  rolling  down 
her  small  white  face. 

"  Why  did  you  rouse  me?"  she  said,  with  a  little  sob.  " I 
was  dreaming,  and  it  was  so  lovely.  I  was  sitting  with  my 
Mollie,  and  we  were  laughing  and  talking  together.  Oh, 
Mollie,  Mollie!"  And  here  a  fit  of  bitter  weeping  seemed 
to  shake  her  from  head  to  foot.  No  power  on  earth  could 
have  hindered  the  flow  of  those  tears. 

For  one  moment  Thorold  almost  lost  his  calmness. 

"Waveney,  my  dear  child,  hush!"  he  said,  hoarsely,  "you 
will  make  yourself  ill.  Why  are  you  so  hopeless?  It  is  often 
darkest  just  before  the  dawn. ' '  And  then  his  hand  rested  for 
a  moment  lightly  on  her  head.  "  How  do  you  know  that  your 
sister's  life  may  not  be  spared?  and  then  all  these  tears  may 
have  been  needlessly  shed.  Child,  do  not  lose  your  faith. 
God  may  be  dealing  mercifully  with  you  and  yours." 

He  spoke  in  a  voice  of  intense  feeling;  then  he  gently 
raised  her  from  the  cushions,  and  held  the  cup  to  her  lips. 

"You  must  drink  this,"  he  said,  very  quietly  and  gently. 
And  Waveney  checked  her  tears  and  obeyed  him. 

"There,  you  are  better  now,"  he  said,  in  a  tone  of  relief, 
when  the  cup  was  empty. 

"Yes,"  she  whispered.  "Thank  you,  for  being  so  good 
and  patient.     I  ought  not  to  have  troubled  you  so." 

"  Troubled?"  returned  Thorold,  in  a  low,  suppressed  voice, 
16  241 


Mollie's  Prince 

"when  there  is  nothing  on  earth  that  I  would  not  do  for  you, 
my  darling  !"  The  last  words  were  scarcely  audible.  Then 
he  bit  his  lip,  and  rose  hastily.  What  was  he  doing?  He 
had  forgotten  himself.  The  sight  of  her  tears,  the  anguish  in 
her  beautiful  eyes,  had  utterly  unnerved  him.  For  the  mo- 
ment he  had  been  oblivious  of  everything  but  her  suffering, 
and  his  great  love ;  and  words  of  tenderness  had  forced  them- 
selves to  his  lips. 

Good  heavens !  what  had  he  done  ?  And  here  he  paced 
the  room  in  agitation ;  but  a  glance  at  the  easy-chair  re- 
assured him.  Poor  child !  she  was  so  dazed,  so  confused, 
that  probably  the  words  had  not  reached  her  ears.  If  they 
had — and  here  he  frowned,  and  stared  at  the  fire  in  per- 
plexity— if,  fool  that  he  was,  he  had  betrayed  himself!  And 
then,  in  spite  of  his  self-reproach,  a  gleam  of  joy  crossed  his 
face.  What  if  she  had  understood  him,  and  knew,  without 
doubt,  that  she  was  the  darling  of  his  heart ! 

But  he  would  not  trust  himself  to  be  alone  with  her  any 
longer.  He  sent  for  a  cab,  and  then  went  up  to  Joanna's 
room  for  an  old  fur-lined  cloak,  that  he  knew  hung  in  her 
wardrobe. 

A  few  minutes  later,  when  he  returned  to  the  room,  the 
cloak  was  over  his  arm.  Waveney  was  still  in  the  same  posi- 
tion, lying  back  on  the  cushions,  with  closed  eyes,  and  listless 
hands  folded  on  her  lap.  But  at  the  sound  of  his  step,  she 
struggled  into  a  sitting  posture. 

1 '  Have  you  come  for  me?  May  I  go,  now?"  she  asked, 
in  a  weak  little  voice.  But  he  noticed  that  the  colour  had 
returned  to  her  lips. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  quietly.  "The  cab  is  here.  But  you 
must  let  me  wrap  you  in  this  cloak,  for  it  is  bitterly  cold  out- 
side, and  this  room  is  so  warm."  Then  she  stood  up  without 
a  word,  and  allowed  him  to  put  it  round  her;  then,  still 
silently,  he  drew  her  hand  through  his  arm,  and  led  her 
slowly  down  the  little  courtyard. 

For  some  minutes  no  word  passed  between  them. 

Thorold  pulled  up  the  windows.  Then  he  wrapped  the 
old  cloak  a  little  closer  round  her,  and  stooped  to  bring  it 
under  her  feet.     As  he  did  so  she  put  out  her  hand  to  stop  him. 

"  Oh,  please — please  do  not  trouble  about  me  so,"  she  said, 
in  a  distressed  tone.  "I  am  quite  warm  now.  You  are  so 
kind,  and  I  cannot  even  thank  you?"  Then,  with  a  sudden 
impulse,  he  took  her  hand,  and  held  it  firmly. 

242 


"I  Will  Never  be  Faithless  Again" 

"Do  you  know  how  you  can  thank  me  best?"  he  said, 
very  gently.  "  By  taking  better  care  of  yourself  in  future. 
Waveney,  promise  me  that  you  will  never  act  so  recklessly 
again.     Good  heavens  !  what  would  have  become  of  you  if  I 

had  not  found  you  !     And  even  now ' '     Then,  with  an 

involuntary  shudder,  he  checked  himself. 

"  I  was  very  wrong,"  she  returned,  humbly,  "  but  I  was  so 
unhappy,  and  I  wanted  to  tire  myself;  and  somehow  the 
river,  and  the  loneliness,  soothed  me.  And  then  all  at  once 
I  seemed  to  lose  myself,  and  you  came.  I  think  the  cold 
numbed  me ;  but  I  understand  better  now,  and  I  am 
sorry. ' ' 

She  spoke  in  broken  little  sentences,  and  it  was  with  diffi- 
culty that  he  could  hear  the  words ;  they  were  just  entering 
the  Lodge  gates  at  that  moment,  and  he  leant  forward  in  the 
darkness  and  lifted  the  cold  little  hand  to  his  lips.  "Yes, 
you  were  wrong,"  he  said,  tenderly,  as  though  he  were  speak- 
ing to  a  child,  "  but  you  will  never  be  so  foolish  again.  You 
will  take  care  of  yourself  for  the  sake  of  those  who  love  you." 
Then  he  dropped  her  hand  as  a  gleam  of  light  from  the  open 
door  streamed  across  the  shrubbery.  And  as  the  cab  stopped 
he  saw  Althea  standing  in  the  porch,  with  a  light,  fleecy  wrap 
thrown  over  her  head. 

"Oh,  Waveney,"  she  exclaimed,  in  an  anxious  tone,  as 
Thorold  lifted  the  girl  out.  "Where  have  you  been?" 
Then,  as  she  caught  sight  of  Waveney' s  face,  "  My  dear 
child,  you  look  dreadful.     What  has  happened?" 

"Nothing  has  happened,"  returned  Thorold,  impatiently. 
"  Miss  Ward  is  not  well ;  the  cold  has  struck  her.  Please  do 
not  keep  her  standing  here. ' '  And,  unceremoniously  putting 
Althea  aside,  he  almost  carried  Waveney  across  the  hall. 

"Take  her  to  Doreen's  room.  There  is  a  nice  fire  there," 
Althea  said,  quickly.  But  she  was  too  late,  for  Thorold  had 
already  opened  the  library  door.  As  he  did  so,  two  people, 
sitting  by  the  fire,  rose  hastily  and  looked  at  them.  The 
next  moment  Waveney  uttered  a  cry  and  freed  herself  from 
Thorold 's  supporting  arm. 

"  Father,"  she  exclaimed,  in  a  voice  of  terror,  "  you  have 

come — you  have   come  to  tell  me "      Then  her  breath 

failed  her,  and  she  almost  fell  into  Everard's  arms. 

"My  darling,  I  have  come  to  bring  you  good  news,"  he 
said,  pressing  her  almost  convulsively  to  him.  "Oh,  such 
good    news,   my  Waveney !      Mollie   is  better ;    the  danger 

243 


Mollie's  Prince 

has  passed,  and "     But  here  he  stopped,  as  Waveney's 

head  fell  heavily  on  his  shoulder. 

"  You  have  told  her  too  suddenly,"  observed  Althea,  in  an 
alarmed  voice.  But  Thorold,  without  a  word,  took  the  girl 
from  her  father's  arms  and  laid  her  on  a  couch. 

"She  has  fainted,"  he  said,  briefly.  "You  had  better 
bring  some  brandy  and  smelling-salts.  The  sudden  revulsion 
has  been  too  much  for  her."  And  then  he  helped  Althea 
apply  the  remedies,  while  Everard  stood  helplessly  by,  too 
shocked  and  troubled  to  be  of  any  use. 

It  seemed  long  before  Waveney  opened  her  eyes.  She 
seemed  rather  confused  at  first.  As  Thorold  put  a  glass  to 
her  lips,  she  looked  at  him  a  little  wildly. 

"  Is  it  another  dream?"  she  whispered.  "  Was  not  father 
here  really?" 

Then  Thorold  smiled  at  her. 

"  It  was  no  dream,"  he  said,  quietly.  "The  good  news 
is  quite  true.     Mr.  Ward,  will  you  take  my  place,  please  ?" 

Then  Everard  knelt  down  by  her  couch.  Waveney's  weak 
arms  were  round  his  neck  in  a  moment. 

"Father,"  she  said,  pressing  her  cheek  against  his,  "tell 
it  me  again.     Mollie — my  Mollie — is  not  going  to  die?" 

Then  Everard,  in  rather  a  tremulous  voice,  repeated  the 
good  news.  There  had  been  a  change  for  the  better  early 
in  the  day,  but  he  had  waited  until  the  afternoon  for  the 
physician's  verdict.  The  danger  that  they  dreaded  was  no 
longer  imminent ;  the  disease  had  run  its  course  ;  everything 
depended  now  upon  skilful  nursing,  with  care  and  watchful- 
ness ;  Sir  Hindley  hoped  that  Mollie  would,  in  time,  recover 
her  normal  strength ;  but  in  this  insidious  disease  there  was 
the  danger  of  sudden  collapse  from  exhaustion — indeed,  there 
were  other  risks,  but  Everard  did  not  mention  this. 

Waveney  listened  with  painful  attention  j  then  her  heavy 
eyes  were  fixed  wistfully  on  her  father's  face. 

"It  is  really  true!"  she  murmured.  "Thank  God,  oh, 
thank  God  !     Father,  dear,  may  I  see  her  now  ?' ' 

Everard  frowned  anxiously;  he  had  dreaded  this  ques- 
tion, but  he  had  to  be  firm,  for  the  doctor's  orders  were 
stringent. 

"No,  dear,"  he  said,  sorrowfully,  "you  must  not  see  her 
yet.  It  is  for  Mollie's  sake  as  well  as  yours.  No  one  must 
see  her  ;  the  least  excitement  or  agitation,  in  her  weak  state, 
might  be  fatal.     You  must  be  patient,  my  little  Waveney, 

244 


"I  Will  Never  be  Faithless  Again" 

and  I  will  promise  you  this,  that  you  shall  be  Mollie's  first 
visitor;"   and  then  Waveney  hid  her  face  on  his  shoulder. 

"  Do  not  let  her  talk  any  more,"  observed  Althea,  gently; 
and  then  Thorold  came  forward  to  take  his  leave.  As  he 
pressed  her  hand,  Waveney  looked  at  him  with  a  touching 
expression  of  gratitude  in  her  dark  eyes. 

"  You  were  right,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice,  "and  I  was 
wicked  and  faithless;  but  I  will  never  be  faithless  again." 

But  his  sole  answer  was  a  smile  so  bright  and  reassuring 
that  in  her  weakness  it  almost  dazzled  her,  as  though  some 
sudden  sunbeam  had  flashed  across  her  eyes. 

"  Fear  nothing,"  it  seemed  to  say,  "  poor  little  tired  child, 
rest  and  be  still."  And  indeed,  before  Everard  left  the 
house,  an  hour  later,  the  worn-out  girl  was  sleeping  peace- 
fully, while  Althea,  with  motherly  eyes,  watched  beside  her. 

It  was  late  that  night  before  Althea  retired  to  rest.  Thor- 
old's  account  had  filled  her  with  uneasiness;  his  description 
made  her  shudder.  The  dark,  solitary  towing-path,  with  the 
dense  mist  rising  from  the  river ;  the  exhausted  little  creature 
trying  to  walk  off  her  sorrow  and  restlessness.  No  wonder 
that  Althea' s  kind  heart  ached  with  pity. 

"Oh,  Thorold,"  she  said,  and  her  eyes  were  full  of  tears, 
"how  do  we  know  what  that  poor  child  may  have  to  suffer 
for  her  imprudence?  She  may  have  rheumatic  fever.  Oh, 
one  cannot  tell  what  may  be  the  result  of  such  madness." 

Then  Thorold  shook  his  head  with  rather  a  sad  smile. 

"You  must  not  take  such  a  gloomy  view.  Let  us  hope 
there  will  be  no  bad  result.  I  confess  Miss  Ward's  exhausted 
condition  alarmed  me  at  first.  It  was  distressing  to  see  her. 
And  then  there  was  so  little  one  could  do  !" 

Thorold' s  tone  had  a  note  of  pain  in  it,  but  Althea  looked 
at  him  with  an  affectionate  smile. 

"  Don't  undervalue  yourself,  Thorold.  In  any  emergency 
or  trouble  I  know  of  no  one  who  could  give  more  efficient 
help.  So  many  kind-hearted  people  spoil  everything  by 
their  fussiness." 

"  Oh,  that  is  one  for  Joa  !" 

"  No,  no,  I  was  not  thinking  of  poor  Joa.  With  all  her 
goodness,  she  is  the  last  person  I  should  care  to  have  near 
me  in  any  sudden  trouble.  Perhaps  it  is  unkind  of  me  to 
say  this,  but  I  know  we  think  alike  on  this  point;"  and 
though  Thorold  made  no  verbal  response  to  this,  it  was  evi- 
dent that  he  agreed  with  her. 

245 


Mollie's  Prince 

When  Waveney  woke  the  next  morning,  she  was  conscious 
of  aching  limbs  and  unusual  weariness  and  lassitude,  and  it 
was  almost  with  a  feeling  of  relief  that  she  heard  Althea  say 
she  must  remain  in  bed. 

"  You  have  been  a  naughty  little  child,"  she  said,  kissing 
her,  "  and  Doreen  and  I  are  excessively  angry  with  you ;  so 
we  have  agreed  that  you  are  to  be  punished  by  some  hours  of 
solitary  confinement.  I  am  going  to  light  your  fire,  and  then 
you  are  to  eat  your  breakfast  and  go  to  sleep  again. ' ' 

Waveney  smiled  quite  happily  at  this.  She  had  no  wish  to 
dispute  the  point.  It  was  a  luxury  to  lie  still  in  her  soft  bed 
and  watch  the  pleasant  firelight  until  her  drowsy  eyelids  closed 
again.  In  spite  of  her  weariness  and  aching  limbs,  there  was 
a  fount  of  joy  in  her  heart.  "  Mollie  is  better.  Mollie  will 
get  well."  Those  were  the  words  she  repeated  over  and  over 
again,  and  more  than  once  her  hands  were  folded,  and 
"  Thank  God  I"  came  audibly  from  her  lips. 

At  midday  Althea  brought  a  note  that  Moritz  had  sent  by  a 
boy  messenger.  It  was  written  to  her,  but  there  was  a  mes- 
sage for  Waveney.  She  read  part  of  it  aloud.  Mollie  had 
slept  well,  and  the  improvement  continued.  Both  doctor  and 
nurses  seemed  satisfied. 

"If  I  had  my  way,  Sir  Hindley  should  have  a  peerage," 
wrote  Moritz.  "He  is  worth  all  the  other  doctors  put  to- 
gether; and  Miss  Mollie  would  never  have  pulled  through 
without  him,  I'll  take  my  oath  of  that."  But  Althea  kept  the 
remainder  of  the  letter  to  herself.  It  was  too  strictly  private 
and  confidential  even  for  Doreen's  ears. 

All  day  long,  in  her  waking  intervals,  Waveney  was  keep- 
ing one  thought  at  bay.  Deep  down  in  her  inner  conscious- 
ness, she  was  aware  of  some  strange  and  secret  joy  which  she 
dare  not  face,  but  which  seemed  to  distil  some  rare  and 
precious  aroma. 

"  Was  it  a  dream?"  she  was  continually  asking  herself;  but 
the  answer  to  this  perpetually  eluded  her.  All  the  events  of 
the  previous  evening  had  resolved  themselves  into  a  sort  of 
painful  vision.  The  dark,  sullen  river;  her  restless  anguish ; 
those  confused  moments  when,  giddy  and  sick,  she  had  sat  on 
the  bench  with  Mr.  Chaytor  beside  her ;  the  walk  through  the 
lighted  streets;  and  then  the  warmth  and  comfort  of  that 
friendly  refuge. 

It  was  not  until  late  in  the  afternoon,  when  the  wintry  dusk 
had  closed  in,  and  the  Pansy  Room  was  bright  with  firelight, 

246 


A  Quixotic  Resolution 

that  the  power  of  consecutive  thought  and  memory  seemed  to 
return  to  Waveney,  when  some  sudden  remembrance  made  her 
bury  her  face  in  the  pillow.  What  were  those  words  that, 
in  spite  of  her  weakness,  seemed  stamped  on  her  heart  and 
brain  ? 

"Trouble?  When  there  is  nothing  on  earth  that  I  would 
not  do  for  you,  my  darling ! ' '  No,  it  was  no  dream.  She 
had  actually  heard  them.  He  had  really  said  them.  Would 
she  ever  forget  his  voice,  or  the  smile  that  had  seemed  to  steal 
into  her  weary  heart  like  a  benediction  ?  Then,  for  a  few 
blissful  moments,  Mollie  was  forgotten  in  the  overwhelming 
consciousness  that  the  man  she  most  admired  and  revered,  who 
seemed  so  far  above  her  in  wisdom  and  intellect,  should  stoop 
from  his  great  height  to  care  for  her. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

A   QUIXOTIC   RESOLUTION. 

"  Thine  were  the  weak,  slight  hands 
That  might  have  taken  this  strong  soul,  and  bent 
Its  stubborn  substance  to  thy  soft  intent." 

Watson. 

For  the  first  time  in  his  life  Thorold  Chaytor's  conscience 
felt  ill  at  ease  ;  and,  though  his  nature  was  by  no  means  intro- 
spective or  over-scrupulous,  he  tormented  himself  and  suffered 
keen  twinges  of  remorse,  for  what  he  called  his  unpardonable 
want  of  self-control. 

Thorold' s  sense  of  honour  was  exceptionally  high;  in  spite 
of  his  cold,  reserved  manner,  he  was  extremely  sensitive ;  the 
thought  that  he  had  been  over-mastered  and  carried  away  by 
passion,  even  though  it  had  been  momentary,  humiliated  and 
shocked  him. 

In  some  of  his  ideas  Thorold  was  somewhat  behind  his 
generation,  and  different  from  other  men.  He  held  old- 
fashioned  and  somewhat  obsolete  views  on  the  subject  of  love, 
and  his  reverence  for  women  savoured  of  the  old  days  of 
chivalry. 

In  his  hard-working  life  he  had  been  brought  little  into  con- 
tact with  them.     He  had  no  time  for  society.     An  evening  at 

247 


Mollie's  Prince 

the  Red  House  with  his  old  friends,  Althea  and  Doreen,  was 
the  only  relaxation  he  had  allowed  himself.  But,  in  spite  of 
his  self-repression,  Thorold  Chaytor  was  intensely  human,  and, 
like  other  men,  he  yearned  for  the  joys  of  wife  and  child. 

"  Man  is  not  made  to  live  alone,"  he  would  say  to  him- 
self, drearily,  as  he  sat  late  at  night  by  his  solitary  fireside ; 
and,  though  no  visionary,  the  thought  of  some  fair  young  face 
would  haunt  him  persistently.  "  I  wonder  if  I  ever  shall  have 
a  wife?"  he  would  say  to  himself,  as  he  looked  into  the  red, 
glowing  caverns  before  him.  "I  shall  be  hard  to  please.  I 
should  like  her  to  be  a  younger  and  prettier  Althea.  Oh,  she 
is  a  noble  creature,  Althea  !  She  would  have  been  a  treasure 
to  any  man,  but  I  fancy — I  have  always  fancied — that  she  gave 
away  her  heart  to  Everard  Ward.  Well,  who  knows  what 
may  happen,  when  I  have  earned  my  fortune?"  And  then 
he  smiled  a  little  bitterly,  as  he  opened  his  books  again. 
Thorold' s  strong,  intense  nature  took  nothing  lightly.  If  he 
loved,  it  was  with  his  whole  heart  and  soul.  Alas  !  for  him, 
the  small,  pale  face  and  dark,  spirituelle  eyes  of  his  little 
Undine  were  now  all  the  world  to  him.  From  the  first  he 
had  recognised  her  sweetness  and  intelligence. 

How  he  had  longed  to  hold  her  to  his  heart,  and  comfort 
her  with  the  assurance  of  his  great  love  !  How  his  nerves  had 
thrilled  with  passionate  tenderness  as  he  ministered  to  her,  as 
though  she  were  a  little  helpless  child  !  And  all  the  time  his 
heart  had,  with  mute  reverence,  worshipped  her. 

"I  must  not  think  of  myself  or  my  own  happiness,"  he 
said  to  himself,  as  he  walked  down  the  hill  in  the  darkness 
that  night.  ' '  My  days  have  been  always  joyless,  and  what 
does  a  little  more  pain  matter  ?  It  is  of  her  I  am  thinking. 
God  forbid  that  I  should  cloud  her  bright  young  life  with 
any  of  my  cares  or  perplexity.  My  little  Waveney,  I  would 
suffer  a  hundred-fold  more  willingly  than  see  you  bearing  my 
burdens. ' ' 

Poor  Thorold  !  In  his  generous  self-renunciation  he  was 
making  a  grievous  mistake,  though  he  little  guessed  it ;  for 
woman's  nature  was  terra  incognita  to  him.  Generosity  and 
self-abnegation  are  not  solely  masculine  virtues,  and  there 
are  women  to  whom  any  form  of  self-sacrifice  for  the  sake  of 
a  beloved  object  is  simply  joy  and  happiness  ;  who  care  noth- 
ing for  waiting  and  poverty,  if  they  can  only  lean  on  some 
strong  arm  and  be  at  rest. 

But  Thorold  was  not  wise  enough  to  know  this,   so  he 

248 


A  Quixotic  Resolution 

formed  a  singular  resolution.  He  would  see  Waveney  again. 
He  would  watch  her  closely.  Ah  !  he  loved  her  so  dearly 
that  he  felt  he  could  almost  read  her  thoughts.  If  she  received 
him  with  her  old  frankness  of  manner,  if  there  were  no  trace 
of  consciousness  in  look  or  tone,  he  would  know  that  his  im- 
pulsive speech  had  not  reached  her  ear,  and  he  would  content 
himself  with  being  more  guarded  for  the  future. 

But  if,  as  some  subtle  instinct  told  him,  there  should  be 
some  undefinable  change  in  her,  some  new  veil  of  shyness,  he 
would  be  certain  that  she  had  heard  him  too  well,  and  in  this 
case  it  was  his  full  intention  to  make  her  understand  in  some 
way  the  difficulty  of  his  position.  "  It  is  impossible  for  me  to 
marry  for  a  great  many  years.  I  am  too  heavily  handicapped. ' ' 
Some  such  words  as  these  he  would  say,  and  then  he  would 
leave  her,  but  not  until  he  had  apologized  to  her  with  all  the 
humility  of  which  he  was  capable.  And  when  he  had  arrived 
at  this  quixotic  resolution  Thorold  was  more  at  peace. 

They  would  not  meet  just  yet,  for  Waveney  was  unable  to 
leave  her  room  for  some  days,  and  spent  most  of  her  time,  as 
Althea  informed  Thorold  when  he  came  in  one  evening,  in 
sleeping  like  a  baby. 

"  And  she  looks  like  one,"  observed  Doreen,  who  had  just 
come  down  from  the  Pansy  Room.  "  I  was  watching  her  just 
now  before  she  woke  up,  and  I  never  saw  such  a  baby  face. 
I  think  it  must  be  her  short,  curly  hair  that  gives  one  the  im- 
pression. I  wonder  why  it  has  never  grown  long?  Mollie 
Ward  has  such  lovely  hair  I" 

"Waveney  told  me  once  that  it  had  never  grown  since 
some  childish  illness,"  returned  Althea,  "but  that  she  did 
not  mind  it,  as  it  gave  her  so  little  trouble.  Why,  Thorold, 
you  are  never  going?"  as  he  rose  from  his  chair.  "What 
nonsense !  You  must  stay  to  dinner.  You  have  not  dined 
with  us  for  an  age." 

"Not  this  evening,"  he  returned,  hurriedly,  "  or  I  should 
have  to  sit  up  all  night  working.  I  am  glad  to  hear  that  Miss 
Ward  is  better,"  he  continued,  rather  formally;  "but  she 
seems  very  weak,  still.     I  suppose  you  have  had  Dr.  Hilton." 

"  Oh,  no,  it  was  not  necessary,"  returned  Althea.  "  Wave- 
ney is  not  really  ill.  She  is  only  worn  out,  body  and  mind. 
A  few  days'  rest  and  feeding  up,  and  plenty  of  Nurse  Marks' 
cosseting  will  soon  put  her  to  rights.  And  now  her  mind  is 
at  rest  about  Mollie,  she  will  soon  be  her  cheerful  little  self 
again." 

249 


Mollie's  Prince 

"I  hope  so,"  was  Thorold's  sole  answer.  And  then,  see- 
ing that  he  was  in  one  of  his  grave,  silent  moods,  Althea  did 
not  press  him  to  stay — only  accompanied  him  to  the  door,  and 
bade  him  a  friendly  good-night. 

"Poor  old  Thorold,  he  does  not  look  quite  happy,"  ob- 
served Doreen,  as  her  sister  re-entered  the  room.  "I  wonder 
if  he  has  anything  on  his  mind?"  And  though  Althea  made 
no  reply  to  this,  the  same  thought  had  crossed  her  mind  more 
than  once. 

When  Waveney  heard  that  Thorold  had  called  to  inquire 
after  her  the  previous  evening,  she  merely  observed  that 
it  was  very  kind.  But  an  hour  or  two  later  she  insisted 
on  dressing  herself,  and  making  an  attempt  to  go  down- 
stairs. 

Althea  remonstrated  at  first ;  but  Waveney  was  so  bent  on 
trying  her  strength,  that  she  thought  it  wiser  to  let  her  have 
her  way,  and  actually  forbore  to  triumph  when  Waveney,  with 
rather  a  piteous  face,  subsided  weakly  on  the  couch. 

"  Perhaps  I  had  better  wait  until  to  morrow,"  she  panted ; 
"dressing  has  tired  me  so."  And  then,  as  Althea  brought 
her  another  pillow,  and  covered  her  up  snugly,  she  continued 
in  a  weak  voice,  jestingly,  "I  feel  as  though  I  had  the  cor- 
poral's wooden  legs,  instead  of  my  own.  They  do  move  so 
stiffly ;  but  then,  wooden  legs  don't  ache.  Never  mind ;  any- 
thing is  better  than  the  heartache."  And  to  this  Althea  cor- 
dially agreed. 

Everard  Ward  paid  them  another  visit  while  Waveney  was 
still  in  her  room.  When  he  came  again  he  found  her  cosily 
established  in  the  library,  and,  though  looking  still  rather 
weak  and  pale,  in  excellent  spirits. 

For  every  day  the  good  news  was  verified,  and  Mollie  made 
slow  but  steady  progress  to  recovery.  Only  once  had  there 
been  a  return  of  anxiety,  when,  for  one  long  half-hour,  Mol- 
lie's weakness  was  so  great  that  Nurse  Helena  feared  sudden 
collapse.  Everard  did  not  tell  Waveney  this.  But  he  kept 
her  well  acquainted  with  every  little  detail  of  the  sick  room — 
what  nourishment  Mollie  took,  and  how  many  hours  she  slept, 
and  even  a  speech  or  two,  repeated  by  her  nurses. 

Once  she  sent  her  dear  love  to  Waveney.  And  another 
time  she  asked  if  Mr.  Ingram  ever  came  to  the  house,  and 
had  looked  both  pleased  and  surprised  when  she  heard  he  had 
been  daily.  "Twice  or  three  times  a  day"  would  have  been 
no  exaggeratian  of  the  truth.     But  Nurse  Helena  wisely  kept 

250 


A  Quixotic  Resolution 

this  to  herself.     For,  of  all  things,  she  dreaded  any  agitation 
or  excitement  for  her  patient. 

When  Waveney  grew  stronger  she  drove  daily  with  one 
or  other  of  the  sisters.  And  when  the  February  sunshine 
tempted  her,  she  took  short  strolls  over  the  Common,  with 
Fuss  and  Fury. 

One  Sunday  afternoon,  when  Althea  and  Doreen  were 
occupied  as  usual,  Waveney  put  on  her  hat  and  went  out. 
There  had  been  rain  the  previous  night,  and  the  garden  paths 
were  damp.  And  at  luncheon  Althea  had  recommended  her 
to  take  a  little  walk,  in  the  direction  of  the  golf  links,  as  it 
would  be  higher  and  dryer  there. 

"Do  not  go  too  far,  and  tire  yourself,"  had  been  her  part- 
ing words.  "Remember  Thursday."  As  though  Waveney 
could  have  forgotten  it,  for  a  moment !  For  that  day  she 
was  to  see  her  dear  Mollie  again. 

It  was  a  lovely  afternoon.  The  air  was  soft  and  balmy, 
and  full  of  the  promise  of  spring,  and  thrushes  and  black- 
birds were  singing  for  joy,  because  the  dark,  wintry  days 
were  over. 

Waveney  could  have  sung  with  them,  out  of  very  gratitude 
and  happiness.     Oh,  how  sweet  life  was !     After  all,  Mollie 

was  getting  well,   and But  here  Waveney  flushed  and 

walked  on  more  rapidly ;  for  there  were  certain  thoughts  that 
made  her  heart  beat  too  quickly. 

"I  am  very  faithless,"  she  was  saying  to  herself,  as  she 
came  in  sight  of  her  favourite  seat.  It  was  in  a  little  hollow, 
and  in  the  summer  the  larches  and  willows  made  a  pleasant 
shade.  There  was  a  pond  near,  where  children  loved  to  sail 
their  little  boats,  or  throw  sticks  in  the  water  for  some  excited 
dog. 

In  her  letters  to  Mollie,  she  had  called  it  "her  green 
parlour. ' ' 

She  would  have  rested  there  for  a  few  minutes,  but  she  saw 
it  was  occupied  by  a  gentleman,  so  she  walked  on  slowly.  The 
next  moment,  however,  she  heard  her  name  pronounced,  and 
Thorold  Chaytor  stood  beside  her. 

"You  are  tired.  You  wanted  to  sit  down,"  he  said,  ab- 
ruptly, as  they  shook  hands.  "  Please  come  back  and  rest  a 
moment.     It  is  so  warm  and  sheltered  in  the  hollow." 

"I  was  not  really  tired,"  returned  Waveney,  nervously; 
but  she  avoided  looking  at  him  as  she  spoke.  "It  is  rather 
a  favourite  seat  of  mine,  and  the  view  is  so  pretty." 

251 


Mollie's  Prince 

"  Yes,  I  was  admiring  it  just  now,"  replied  Thorold ;  "but 
you  will  sit  down  for  five  minutes,  will  you  not?"  Then 
Waveney,  shy  and  confused,  accompanied  him  a  little  reluc- 
tantly across  the  grass.  But  as  Thorold  walked  silently  beside 
her,  under  his  quiet  manner  there  raged  a  perfect  tempest  of 
conflicting  feelings. 

His  sudden  and  unexpected  appearance  had  taken  Waveney 
by  surprise,  and  her  startled  blush,  and  confusion,  betrayed 
her  agitation  at  the  meeting.  Her  new  timidity,  the  faltering 
of  her  voice,  and  her  avoidance  of  his  eyes,  all  told  the  same 
tale  to  Thorold:  she  had  understood,  and  she  was  not  indif- 
ferent to  him ! 

A  spasm  of  joy  shot  through  Thorold' s  heart  at  this  thought ; 
then  he  remembered  his  resolution,  and  crushed  down  his 
rising  happiness. 

"  I  must  think  of  her,  and  not  of  myself,"  he  said  to  him- 
self, as  he  took  the  seat  beside  her. 

"I  am  glad  to  see  you  are  so  much  better,"  he  began,  after 
a  long  pause,  that  neither  knew  how  to  break.  "  But  you  are 
not  quite  strong  yet ;  your  step  has  lost  its  old  spring."  Then 
he  interrupted  himself,  as  though  he  feared  to  say  so  much. 
"But  all  that  will  pass." 

"Yes,  it  will  pass,"  she  returned,  trying  to  speak  naturally, 
and  looking  at  him  for  the  first  time.  The  soft  brilliancy  of 
her  eyes  almost  dazzled  Thorold.  He  nearly  forgot  his  reso- 
lution, as  he  looked  into  their  brown  depths.  "  Do  you  know, 
Mr.  Chaytor,  that  on  Thursday  I  am  actually  to  see  my  Mollie. 
I  am  counting  the  hours,  and  so  is  she." 

"And  that  makes  you  very  happy?"  he  asked,  in  a  low 
voice. 

"Oh,  yes;  so  grateful  and  happy!  Father  has  seen  her, 
of  course ;  and  he  says  I  must  be  prepared  to  find  her  very 
weak.  Is  it  not  a  pity  she  has  lost  her  lovely  colour  ?  But 
Nurse  Helena  says  it  will  come  back.  She  seems  such  a  kind 
woman.  When  I  send  little  notes  to  Mollie,  she  answers  them 
so  nicely,  and  gives  all  Mollie's  messages." 

Waveney  had  forgotten  her  nervousness  in  this  engrossing 
topic  ;  but  Thorold's  answer  was  a  little  vague. 

"And  you  will  never  be  faithless  again?" 

"No!"  she  returned,  flushing  at  this;  "I  will  try  to  be 
more  trustful  in  future."  And  then,  more  kindly,  "Mr. 
Chaytor,  you  were  so  good  to  me  that  miserable  evening,  I 
have  so  often  wished  to  thank  you,  and  tell  you  that  I  am 

252 


A  Quixotic  Resolution 

not  unmindful  of  your  great  kindness."     Then  he  checked 
her. 

"Miss  Ward,  you  owe  me  no  gratitude;  any  one  would 
have  done  what  I  did.  It  is  your  forgiveness  I  ought  to 
ask,  for  I  am  afraid  that  in  my  sympathy  and  pity  I  forgot 
myself." 

He  said  this  with  such  difficulty,  and  in  such  a  constrained 
tone,  that  Waveney  looked  at  him  in  astonishment.  Then,  as 
she  saw  his  expression,  her  head  drooped  a  little. 

"I  do  not  know  what  you  mean,"  she  said,  under  her 
breath. 

"  I  cannot  explain  myself,"  he  returned,  hurriedly ;  "would 
to  heaven  that  I  could.  But  I  think  from  your  manner  that 
you  do  not  misunderstand  me.  Miss  Ward,  there  is  something 
I  want  to  tell  you  about  myself  if  you  will  pardon  my  egotism. 
We  are  good  friends,  I  trust,  and  if  possible  I  want  you  to 
think  well  of  me." 

Waveney  listened  silently  to  this,  but  she  bit  her  lip  to 
conceal  a  smile.  Was  it  likely  that  she  of  all  persons  would 
think  ill  of  him  ? 

"lain  unfortunately  placed,"  he  continued.  "All  my  life 
circumstances  have  been  too  strong  for  me.  Other  men  can 
please  themselves,  but  I  have  never  been  free  to  choose  my 
own  path.  Duties  and  responsibilities  have  crowded  on  me 
from  mere  boyhood.  Fresh  ones  have  come  to  me  within  the 
last  few  months." 

Then  Waveney  understood  that  he  was  speaking  of  his 
brother  and  little  Bet,  and  her  attention  became  almost 
painful. 

"I  can  see  no  end  of  it  all,"  he  went  on — and  there  was 
despair  in  his  voice.  "  It  must  be  years — perhaps  many 
years — before  I  can  think  of  marrying.  I  ought  to  have  re- 
membered this — I  ought  not  to  have  forgotton  myself. ' '  Then 
he  rose  abruptly,  and  his  face  was  very  pale.  "  Miss  Ward, 
you  have  been  very  good  to  listen  to  me  so  patiently,  but  I 
must  not  keep  you  here  any  longer ;  it  will  not  be  safe  for 
you." 

He  was  standing  before  her  as  he  spoke,  but  for  a  moment 
she  made  no  reply,  only  sat  with  bent  head,  and  her  hands 
folded  tightly  together  in  her  lap.  But  as  he  stooped  and  put 
out  his  hand,  as  though  to  help  her  to  rise,  she  suddenly  looked 
up  in  his  face. 

"Thank  you,"  she  said,  quite  simply.     "  You  need  not  fear 

253 


Mollie's  Prince 

that  I  should  ever  misunderstand  one  so  good  and  kind;"  and 
then  she  flushed  up,  and  rose  quickly  from  the  bench.  "  It  is 
too  late  to  go  on  now,  and  Miss  Harford  will  be  expecting  me. 
Please  do  not  come  any  farther.  There  is  no  need  to  spoil 
your  walk.  Give  my  love  to  your  sister  and  little  Bet — dear 
little  Bet." 

'  *  Are  you  sure  ?  Do  you  not  wish  me  to  accompany  you  ?' ' 
he  stammered;  but  she  shook  her  head  with  a  semblance  of 
gaiety. 

"  Oh,  no.  I  shall  be  at  the  Red  House  in  five  minutes. 
Good-bye,  good-bye." 

Waveney  was  in  such  a  desperate  hurry  that  she  forgot  to 
shake  hands.  She  almost  ran  down  the  little  path  between 
the  furze-bushes. 

The  thrushes  and  blackbirds  had  ceased  their  songs,  and 
the  sunshine  had  faded  from  the  landscape,  but  in  Waveney' s 
heart  there  was  a  strange,  new  joy. 

"He  loves  me,  he  loves  me,"  she  was  saying  to  herself, 
"though  he  will  not  tell  me  so  for  a  long  time.  Oh,  how 
good  he  is!  how  patient  and  self-sacrificing!"  And  then  her 
eyes  were  dim  as  she  remembered  the  suppressed  pain  in  his 
voice.  "I  have  never  been  free  to  choose  my  own  path." 
Was  that  not  true,  absolutely  true  ?  and  could  any  man  have 
done  his  duty  more  nobly?  And  yet  this  hero,  this  king 
among  men,  actually  loved  her  !  And  now  Waveney' s  eyes 
were  full  of  tears. 


CHAPTER   XXXIV. 

"I   HAVE   WANTED   MY   OLD   SWEETHEART." 

"  Our  doubts  and  our  fears  we  are  leaving ; 
Before  us  the  future  uprears, 
Where  angels  a  rainbow  are  weaving 
Of  smiles  and  of  tears." 

Helen  Marion  Burnside. 

During  Waveney* s  indisposition  Evcrard  Ward  had  been 
constantly  at  the  Red  House,  and  these  visits  had  been  full  of 
consolation  to  both  father  and  daughter.  Althea's  kindly 
welcome  and  womanly  gentleness  had,  from  the  first,  put  him 

254 


"I   Have  Wanted  My  Old  Sweetheart" 

at  his  ease.  Both  she  and  Doreen  had  cordially  pressed  him 
to  repeat  his  visits,  as  they  gave  Waveney  so  much  pleasure. 
Once,  when  the  sisters  were  out,  and  Waveney  was  making 
tea  for  him  in  the  library,  she  asked  him  suddenly  why  Mr. 
Ingram  never  called  at  the  Red  House. 

"I  do  not  think  it  is  quite  kind  and  cousinly,"  she  said, 
rather  seriously. 

Everard  seemed  a  little  embarrassed  by  the  question. 

"Why,  you  see,"  he  replied,  in  rather  a  hesitating  way, 
"  Ingram  is  so  fully  engaged.  He  is  up  at  our  place  regularly 
every  morning  and  evening.  He  does  not  seem  able  to  exist 
away  from  it.  Mollie  ought  to  consider  herself  a  lucky  little 
girl,"  he  continued,  thoughtfully,  "  for  I  never  saw  a  man  more 
deeply  in  love.  He  is  a  fine  fellow — Ingram — the  best-hearted 
fellow  I  know;  and  I  only  hope" — and  here  he  looked  at 
Waveney  rather  searchingly — "that  our  dear  Mollie  values 
him  as  he  deserves." 

"I  think  Mollie  is  beginning  to  care  for  him,"  returned 
Waveney ;  "at  least,  I  fancy  so.  But,  of  course,  one  can  only 
guess  at  her  feelings.  You  see,  he  has  given  her  so  much 
pleasure.  And  she  has  learnt  to  depend  on  him  so  much  for 
companionship  and  sympathy,  that  it  would  be  strange  if  she 
were  to  harden  her  heart  against  him,  at  last.  But,  father," 
— her  voice  deepening  with  emotion, — "do  you  think  he  is 
quite  good  enough  for  our  sweet  Mollie  ?    He  is  very  kind  and 

amusing — our  dear  little  Monsieur  Blackie,  but ' '    Everard 

interrupted  her  abruptly. 

"  Pshaw,  what  a  ridiculous  name  !  I  think  it  is  quite  time 
that  you  and  Noel  dropped  it.  Monsieur  Blackie,  indeed  ! 
Absurd !  I  cannot  imagine  why  you  have  all  taken  such  a 
liberty  with  him. ' '  Everard  spoke  in  such  a  ruffled  tone  that 
Waveney  stared  at  him  in  surprise. 

"But,  father,  dear,  he  likes  it.  He  is  as  proud  of  the 
name  as  possible.  In  his  little  notes  to  us  he  always  signs 
himself  'Monsieur  Blackie.'  "  And  then  she  added,  rather 
wickedly,  "You  know,  dear,  the  name  does  suit  him  so  per- 
fectly. If  he  were  tall,  and  handsome,  and  dignified,  we 
should  have  found  him  quite  a  different  name." 

But  this  explanation  did  not  seem  to  please  Everard. 
"Nonsense,  child!"  he  said,  quite  sharply.  "What  do 
looks  matter  ?  A  good  heart,  and  a  generous  nature,  are 
worth  far  more.  Some  of  the  greatest  men  in  the  world  were 
short   of   stature.     Nelson   and    Napoleon — oh !    and   many 

255 


Mollie's  Prince 

others.  But  girls  are  so  silly  and  sentimental,  they  prefer 
some  Adonis  six  feet  high,  with  an  empty  purse  and 
head." 

Waveney  laughed  merrily  at  this.  Then  a  sudden  thought 
came  to  her. 

"Father,"  she  said,  rather  gravely,  "it  is  easy  to  see  that 
Mr.  Ingram  will  have  no  difficulty  with  you,  and  that  you 
are  his  best  friend.  Has  he" — and  here  she  hesitated,  and 
flushed — "has  he  spoken  to  you  yet?  I  mean,  has  he  told 
you  that  he  loves  Mollie?" 

"  My  little  Waveney,  that  is  not  a  fair  question,"  returned 
Everard,  quickly.  "But  I  suppose  that  there  is  no  harm  in 
telling  you  that  I  am  most  certainly  in  Ingram's  confidence. 
Now,  no  more  questions;  he  has  begged  me  to  respect  his 
secret.  Yes" — rising  from  his  seat,  and  speaking  with  re- 
pressed excitement — "  he  has  my  best  wishes  for  his  success. 
Now  I  must  go,  dear  child,  for  I  have  promised  to  dine  with 
him  and  Noel." 

When  Everard  had  gone,  Waveney  sat  down  by  the  fire ; 
the  conversation  had  given  her  plenty  of  food  for  thought. 
Her  father  was  in  Ingram's  confidence ;  it  was  evident  that 
he  fully  approved  of  him  as  a  prospective  son-in-law — that 
Ingram's  generosity  and  kindness  of  heart  had  won  him  over 
completely.  "  I  like  him,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  and  I  think 
I  could  get  fond  of  him  as  a  brother;  but  in  Mollie's  place" 
— and  here  Waveney  shook  her  head.  The  vision  of  a  grave, 
strong  face,  with  keen,  thoughtful  grey  eyes,  seemed  to  rise 
before  her ;  a  quiet,  cultured  voice  vibrated  in  her  ears.  Well, 
Mollie  was  welcome  to  her  Black  Prince.  To  her  there  was 
only  one  man  in  the  world,  and  his  name  was  Thorold 
Chaytor. 

This  little  talk  had  taken  place  two  or  three  days  before  her 
interview  with  Thorold  that  Sunday  afternoon.  After  that 
she  thought  less  about  Mr.  Ingram.  She  was  reading  her  own 
version  of  the  old,  old  story,  which  most  women  read  once 
in  their  lives ;  and  though  the  opening  chapter  was  headed 
"  Waiting  and  Patience,"  it  was  none  the  less  sweet  and  en- 
grossing to  the  reader.  There  was  something  heroic  to  her  in 
Thorold' s  silence  and  self-renunciation.  "  He  is  great  be- 
cause he  has  learnt  to  conquer  himself,"  she  thought.  "  Most 
men  are  dominated  by  their  own  passions  and  prefer  inclina- 
tion to  duty."  And  then,  like  a  true  woman,  she  reverenced 
him  the  more. 

256 


"I   Have  Wanted  My  Old  Sweetheart" 

It  was  the  longest  week  that  Waveney  had  ever  passed,  and 
it  seemed  as  though  Thursday  would  never  come. 

Althea  had  promised  to  have  luncheon  with  Mrs.  Main- 
waring  that  day,  so  she  proposed  to  drive  Waveney  over  to 
Cleveland  Terrace  about  noon.  She  had  already  made  her 
preparations  for  the  interview  by  sending  Mollie  the  prettiest 
and  daintiest  blue  dressing-gown.  Mollie,  who  was  still  very 
weak,  had  shed  tears  over  the  gift ;  but  Nurse  Helena  had 
only  laughed  at  her,  and  made  her  try  it  on. 

Everard  was  in  the  studio,  touching  up  a  picture  that  one 
of  his  pupils  had  painted,  when  Waveney  entered.  She  was 
rather  pale  and  breathless.  How  shabby  and  bare  the  dear 
old  room  looked  to  her,  after  her  long  absence  !  And  yet,  in 
spite  of  its  dinginess,  how  she  loved  it ! 

"Oh,  father,  how  nice  it  is  to  be  here  again!"  she  said, 
softly,  as  she  stood  near  him.  And  Everard  smiled  and  patted 
her  cheek. 

"Ingram  left  those  flowers  for  you,"  he  said,  pointing  to  a 
charming  bouquet  on  Mollie' s  little  painting-table.  "  He  was 
so  sorry  that  he  could  not  wait  and  see  you,  but  he  had  to 
meet  an  old  friend  at  his  club. ' '  But  before  Waveney  could 
make  any  reply  to  this,  or  look  at  her  flowers,  a  pleasant- 
looking  woman  in  nurse's  garb  entered.  She  had  a  gentle 
face,  and  kind  eyes,  and  Waveney  went  up  to  her  at  once  and 
took  her  hand. 

"You  are  my  sister's  Nurse  Helena,"  she  said,  quickly. 
"Thank  you  for  all  your  care  of  Mollie.  May  I  see  her 
soon?" 

"Certainly.  Will  you  come  with  me  now?  Miss  Ward 
heard  the  carriage  stop,  and  she  sent  me  down  to  bring  you 
up  at  once.  I  need  not  caution  you,"  she  continued,  as  they 
went  upstairs,  "to  be  very  quiet,  as  my  patient  is  still  weak. 
She  is  on  the  new  couch  that  Mr.  Ingram  sent  for  her  use, 
and  I  think  you  will  say  she  looks  very  comfortable."  Wave- 
ney was  far  too  agitated  to  answer.  As  Nurse  Helena  opened 
the  door,  she  heard  Mollie' s  dear,  familiar  voice  say,  in  weak 
accents,  "  Wave,  darling,  is  it  really  you?"  and  the  next 
moment  she  was  kneeling  by  the  couch,  and  she  and  Mollie 
were  clasped  in  each  other's  arms,  and  Mollie's  thin  white 
cheek  was  wetted  by  her  sister's  tears. 

1 '  Wave,  dear,  you  must  not  cry  so, ' '  whispered  Mollie,  in 
a  troubled  voice.  "I  am  better,  and  Nurse  Helena  says  that 
I  get  stronger  every  day. ' '  Then  Waveney,  ashamed  of  her 
17  257 


Mollie's  Prince 

want  of  self-control,  and  remembering  the  nurse's  injunction, 
brushed  away  her  tears  and  tried  to  smile. 

"  I  have  wanted  my  old  sweetheart  so  badly,"  she  faltered, 
and  with  difficulty  she  repressed  a  sob ;  in  spite  of  her  pallor, 
Mollie  looked  lovelier  than  ever — almost  too  fragile  and 
beautiful,  Waveney  thought,  with  that  faint  flush  of  excite- 
ment on  her  wasted  cheeks,  and  the  violet  lines  under  the 
large  eyes. 

"Not  more  than  I  have  wanted  you,  darling,"  returned 
Mollie,  softly.  "  Wave,  I  want  to  see  your  dear  face  more 
clearly.  Look,  Nurse  Helena  has  put  that  seat  close  to  me, 
so  that  I  can  hold  your  hand,  and  we  can  talk  comfortably. 
She  is  going  to  leave  us  alone  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  and  I 
have  promised  to  be  good  and  not  tire  myself."  Then,  as 
Nurse  Helena  closed  the  door,  "  Oh,  Wave,  it  is  almost  worth 
all  the  pain  and  weariness,  to  have  such  happiness  as 
this!" 

"  It  is  almost  too  good  to  be  true,"  returned  Waveney, 
tenderly.  ' '  Dear  Mollie,  it  has  been  such  a  dreadful  time. 
If  I  could  only  have  borne  the  pain  for  you  !  But  to  know 
you  were  suffering,  and  that  strangers  were  nursing  you,  and 

I    could    do   nothing — nothing "   and  a   faint    shudder 

crossed  her  as  she  remembered  those  days  of  anguish  and 
suspense. 

"Hush,  darling,"  replied  Mollie;  but  there  were  tears  in 
her  eyes.  "We  will  not  talk  about  that  sad  time  now.  Do 
you  think  I  did  not  know  what  my  Waveney  was  feeling? 
That  night  I  was  so  bad,  and  I  thought  that  perhaps  I  should 
die,  I  prayed  that  I  might  see  you  once  more,  and  that  we 
might  bid  each  other  good-bye.  There,  don't  fret,"  for 
Waveney  was  kneeling  beside  her  again,  with  her  face  hidden 
in  the  pillow.  "I  only  want  to  tell  you  how  good  Nurse 
Helena  was  to  me,  and  how  she  comforted  me.  I  was  very 
miserable  the  next  day,  though  I  believe  I  was  really  better ; 
and  when  Nurse  Helena  asked  me  what  was  troubling  me,  I 
told  her  it  was  because  I  was  so  wicked  that  I  felt  I  could  not 
be  happy  in  heaven,  if  my  Waveney  were  breaking  her  heart 
about  me  here,  and  that  with  such  feelings  I  was  not  fit  to 
die.     And  she  said,  in  such  a  comforting  way, — 

"  'But  you  are  not  going  to  heaven  yet,  my  child,  so  you 
need  not  trouble  your  head  about  leaving  your  sister.  As  for 
feeling  wicked — well,  we  are  none  of  us  angels,  but  it  is  my 
belief  that  our  Heavenly  Father  will  not  be  angry  with  us 

258 


"I  Have  Wanted  My  Old  Sweetheart" 

for  loving  those  He  has  given  us  to  love.'  Oh,  she  is  such  a 
sweet  woman,  Wave  !  If  you  only  knew  her  you  would  like 
her  as  much  as  I  do.  Nurse  Miriam  was  very  kind,  too,  but 
she  is  not  as  nice  as  Nurse  Helena. ' ' 

"I  love  her  already  for  being  so  good  to  my  darling," 
returned  Waveney;  and  then  she  tried  to  smile.  "Mollie, 
dear,  there  is  some  one  else  to  whom  we  owe  gratitude. ' ' 

Then  a  swift,  undefinable  change  passed  over  Mollie's  face. 

"I  know  whom  you  mean,"  she  returned  in  a  low  voice; 
"  and  father  has  told  me  how  good  he  has  been.  It  was  Mr. 
Ingram  who  sent  Sir  Hindley  down,  and  he  made  him  come 
three  times.  Nurse  Helena  says  his  fees  are  tremendous,  and 
that  he  is  the  greatest  throat  doctor  in  the  world.  And  then 
he  is  paying  for  the  nurses.  I  found  that  out  the  other  day. 
And  every  day  something  comes — game,  and  wine,  and  fruit, 
and  flowers,  and  yesterday  this  lovely  couch.  Oh,  Wave, 
somehow  it  oppresses  me  to  think  of  it  all,  for  how  is  one  to 
repay  such  kindness  ?' ' 

"We  will  think  about  that,  dear,  when  you  are  stronger. 
Oh,  we  shall  have  so  much  to  talk  about  and  to  plan,  so  you 
must  make  haste  and  get  well,  for  I  cannot  do  without  my 
sweetheart  any  longer." 

Then  Mollie  smiled,  well  satisfied. 

"  Oh,  dear,  how  nice  it  will  be  !"  she  said,  in  rather  a  tired 
voice.  "  Do  you  know,  Wave,  Miss  Althea  sent  me  a  message 
by  father  the  other  day.  She  has  promised  to  spare  you  to 
me  whenever  I  want  you,  and  when  I  go  to  the  sea  you  are 
to  come,  too." 

This  was  news  to  Waveney. 

"I  have  heard  nothing  about  it.  Are  you  quite  sure?" 
she  asked,  doubtfully. 

"Quite  sure,"  returned  Mollie,  decidedly;  "but  it  was 
only  settled  last  night.  He — Mr.  Ingram,  I  mean" — and 
here  Mollie  spoke  rather  hurriedly  and  nervously,  "was  talk- 
ing to  father.  He  said  change  of  air  was  necessary  after  such 
an  illness,  and  that  the  doctor  wished  it,  and  that  I  should 
never  get  strong  without  it.  And  then  father  gave  in,  and  it 
was  decided  that  I  should  go  as  soon  as  possible,  and  that 
you  and  Nurse  Helena  were  to  come,  too.  Oh,  there  she 
comes,"  as  the  nurse  opened  the  door,  "but  I  am  sure  our 
quarter  of  an  hour  is  not  up  yet. ' ' 

"It  is  just  twenty  minutes,"  observed  Nurse  Helena,  com- 
posedly.    "Just  five  minutes  too  long,  I  can  see,  by  your 

259 


Mollie's  Prince 

face.     Miss  Ward,  will  you  bid  your  sister  good-bye,  please? 
I  should  like  her  to  be  quiet  for  a  little  before  her  dinner." 

"Yes,  you  must  go,  Wave,"  observed  Mollie,  with  ready 
submission;  "but  you  are  to  have  dinner  with  father  before 
you  go  back,  and  I  am  to  see  you  again  on  Sunday."  And 
then  the  sisters  kissed  each  other  silently.  But  as  Waveney 
turned  on  the  threshold  for  a  last  look,  Mollie  waved  her 
hand.  "  Oh,  it  has  been  so  nice,"  she  said,  feebly,  "  and  I 
am  so  happy*"  But,  almost  before  Waveney  was  downstairs, 
Mollie  was  asleep. 

"Well,"  observed  Everard,  with  a  questioning  smile, 
"have  you  talked  Mollie  into  a  fever?" 

"I  am  afraid  we  did  talk  rather  too  much,"  returned 
Waveney,  penitently,  "for  Mollie  looked  very  tired  when  I 
left.  But;  father,  how  weak  and  thin  she  is  !  I  could  not 
help  fretting  when  I  saw  her.  But  she  looks  sweeter  than 
ever,  dear  thing,  and  Miss  Althea's  blue  dressing-gown  is 
lovely !  She  was  quite  a  picture  with  that  Indian  silk  rug 
over  her  feet,  and  all  those  beautiful  flowers  beside  her." 

"Ingram  again,"  returned  Everard,  with  a  groan.  "Do 
you  know,  he  is  actually  going  to  Eastbourne  next  week  to 
take  lodgings  for  her  and  Nurse  Helena,  and  nothing  I  can 
say  will  stop  him." 

"  Mollie  says  I  am  to  go,  too,"  observed  Waveney,  anxiously. 

"Yes,  dear,  Miss  Harford  proposed  that,  and  I  think  she 
is  right  in  saying  that  you  need  a  change,  too ;  you  are  look- 
ing thin  and  pale,  my  child." 

"  Oh,  I  am  very  well,"  she  replied,  hastily  ;  and  then  Ann, 
the  heavy-footed,  came  up  to  tell  them  that  dinner  was  ready. 
After  that,  as  Waveney  was  too  restless  to  stay  in  the  house, 
they  went  out  for  a  walk,  and  strolled  in  Old  Ranelagh 
gardens,  and  then  down  the  lime  walk  and  along  the  em- 
bankment to  Cheyne  Walk;  and  then,  as  it  was  growing 
dusk,  they  walked  on  quickly  to  Sloane  Square,  and  Everard 
put  her  in  the  train. 

"Good-bye  until  Sunday,  father,  dear,"  were  her  last 
words,  as  the  train  moved  off.  But  that  night,  before  Wave- 
ney fell  asleep  happily  in  her  Pansy  Room,  Nurse  Helena's 
homely  words  recurred  to  her. 

"Well,  we  are  none  of  us  angels,  but  it  is  my  belief  that 
our  Heavenly  Father  will  not  be  angry  with  us  for  loving 
those  He  has  given  us  to  love." 

"Thank  God  for  that,"  she  murmured,  "and  that  it  is  no 

260 


"What  Am  I  to  Say?" 

sin  that  I  love  my  Mollie  so  intensely."  And  in  the  dying 
firelight  Waveney  folded  her  little  hands  together,  and  with  a 
grateful  heart  said  her  Te  Deum. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

"WHAT   AM   I    TO   SAY?" 

"So  we  grew  together, 
Like  to  a  double  cherry,  seeming  parted, 
And  yet  a  union  in  partition, 
Two  lovely  berries  moulded  on  one  stem." 

Shakespeare. 

Although  March  set  in  fierce  and  blustering  as  a  lion,  it 
might  have  been  as  mild  as  any  lamb  to  Waveney ;  for  when 
one  is  young,  and  the  blood  courses  freely  in  the  veins,  even 
a  nipping  east  wind  and  grey  skies  are  not  the  intolerable 
hardships  that  older  people  feel  them,  especially  when  a  well- 
spring  of  joy  is  bubbling  up  in  the  heart. 

Mollie  was  getting  well— that  was  the  key-note  of  Wave- 
ney's  happiness.  And  though  Althea  shivered  and  looked 
depressed,  as  she  gazed  out  at  the  uninviting  prospect,  and 
even  Doreen  shrugged  her  shoulders  and  made  uncompli- 
mentary remarks  on  the  weather,  Waveney  only  laughed  and 
looked  provokingly  cheerful. 

"I  don't  mind  the  long  walk  one  bit,"  she  returned,  in 
answer  to  a  pitying  observation  from  Althea.  "I  shall  walk 
as  fast  as  possible  and  keep  myself  warm  ;  and  as  for  the  dust, 
don't  you  know  the  old  saying,  that  'a  peck  of  March  dust 
is  worth  a  king's  ransom'  ?"  But  Althea  smiled  a  little  sadly 
as  Waveney  ran  out  of  the  room  to  put  on  her  hat  and  jacket. 

"  How  happy  the  child  is  !"  she  said,  with  an  involuntary 
sigh.  "After  all,  Dorrie,  when  one  is  growing  old,  it  is 
pleasant  to  have  a  bright  young  creature  about  the  house. 
Don't  you  remember  when  Aunt  Sara  first  suggested  that  I 
should  have  a  companion,  that  you  looked  rather  blank,  and 
said  that  our  old  cosy  life  would  be  quite  spoiled?" 

Althea  spoke  in  rather  a  depressed  voice,  and  Doreen 
looked  at  her  anxiously. 

261 


Mollie's  Prince 

"Yes,  I  remember,"  she  replied,  quietly.  "The  idea 
quite  worried  me.  I  was  almost  cross  with  Aunt  Sara  for 
mentioning  it.  But  I  am  glad  now  that  Waveney  came  to 
us,"  she  continued,  thoughtfully.  "  She  is  a  dear  little  thing, 
and  one  can't  help  loving  her;  and  then,  you  have  found  her 
such  a  comfort. ' ' 

"Indeed,  I  have,"  was  Althea's  reply;  "she  is  such  a 
bright,  intelligent  little  soul,  and  she  has  so  much  tact  and 
sympathy.  I  am  afraid  I  almost  begrudge  her  to  Mollie,  espe- 
cially as ' '  But  here  she  checked  herself. 

"  You  are  not  feeling  quite  well,  dear,"  observed  her  sister, 
affectionately.  "I  hope  your  eyes  are  not  troubling  you." 
But  Althea  shook  her  head. 

"Not  particularly.  No,  don't  fuss,  Dorrie,  there  is 
nothing  really  the  matter ;  only  the  east  wind  is  my  enemy. 
How  is  one  to  feel  happy  without  sunshine  and  warmth  ?  Do 
you  remember  that  March  we  spent  in  the  Riviera,  and  those 
orange  groves,  and  the  bed  of  Neapolitan  violets  under  our 
window?    How  delicious  it  was  !" 

"But,  Ally,  dear,"  remonstrated  Doreen,  "why  do  you 
speak  in  that  regretful  voice  ?  You  know  Aunt  Sara  wanted 
you  to  spend  the  winter  with  her  at  Mentone,  but  you  refused 
at  once." 

"Of  course  I  refused, ' '  returned  Althea,  indignantly.  ' '  Do 
you  think  I  was  going  to  leave  you  alone  all  the  winter  ?  Be- 
sides, there  was  my  work.  What  would  have  become  of  my 
Porch  House  Thursdays,  and  my  classes  and  Library  teas? 
Oh,  no,  Dorrie.  What  is  the  use  of  '  putting  one's  hand  to 
the  plough,  and  looking  back  ?'  Work  has  its  responsibilities. 
As  long  as  my  strength  lasts  I  want  to  do  my  own  little  bit  as 
well  and  as  perfectly  as  I  can."  And  then  Mitchell  came  in 
for  the  coachman's  orders,  and  Althea  went  off  to  read  the 
letters  in  the  library. 

Waveney  spent  half  her  time  at  Cleveland  Terrace.  As 
Mollie  grew  stronger,  she  yearned  incessantly  for  her  sister's 
companionship,  and,  as  Althea  once  remarked  to  Everard, 
"it  seemed  useless  and  cruel  to  keep  them  apart."  And 
Everard  fully  concurred  in  this  opinion. 

"But  you  are  very  good  to  spare  my  little  Waveney  to  us 
so  much,"  he  said,  gratefully,  "and  we  ought  not  to  take 
advantage  of  your  kindness.  The  child  was  here  three  or 
four  times  last  week.  I  am  afraid  she  is  neglecting  all  her 
duties  for  Mollie."     But  though  Althea  was  too  truthful  to 

262 


"What  Am  I  to  Say?" 

deny  this,  she  assured  him  that  she  was  perfectly  willing  to 
spare  her  young  companion. 

"I  don't  think  I  ever  saw  two  sisters  so  devoted  to  each 
other,"  she  continued.  "It  is  really  beautiful  to  see  their 
love  for  each  other. ' ' 

"It  has  always  been  the  same,"  returned  Everard,  in  a 
moved  voice.  "Even  when  they  were  mere  babies,  Mollie 
would  refuse  to  touch  her  cake  unless  Waveney  had  half. 
Dorothy  had  to  put  them  to  sleep  in  the  same  cot,  or  Mollie 
would  have  cried  half  the  night.  It  was  the  prettiest  sight, 
she  used  to  tell  me."  And  then  he  broke  up  rather  abruptly. 
"I  am  an  old  fool  about  my  girls,"  he  said,  with  a  little 
laugh;  "but,  you  see,  I  have  had  to  be  mother  as  well  as 
father  for  so  many  years."  But  Althea  made  no  answer  to 
this.  She  only  bade  him  good-bye  very  kindly.  It  was  the 
first  time  he  had  mentioned  his  wife  to  her.  Dorothy  !  How 
his  voice  had  softened  as  he  mentioned  the  beloved  name. 

That  morning  when  Waveney  made  her  little  speech  about  a 
peck  of  March  dust,  she  found  a  delightful  surprise  awaiting 
her  at  Cleveland  Terrace. 

Her  father  was  not  at  home.  She  knew  well  it  was  his  day 
at  Norwood,  so  she  went  hastily  past  the  studio  door  without 
peeping  in  as  usual;  but  the  next  moment  she  saw  Nurse 
Helena  on  the  threshold  beckoning  her. 

"Will  you  come  in  here  for  a  minute,  Miss  Ward?"  she 
said,  rather  mysteriously.  And  Waveney,  with  some  surprise, 
retraced  her  steps ,  and  then,  as  she  followed  her  in,  a  little 
cry  of  delight  broke  from  her,  for  there  was  Mollie  pillowed 
up  cosily  on  the  old  couch,  and  smiling  at  her  in  the  most 
triumphant  way. 

"Oh,  you  darling  !"  exclaimed  Waveney,  in  perfect  ecstasy 
at  the  sight.  "  Do  you  mean  that  you  have  actually  walked 
downstairs?" 

"Yes,  and  all  by  myself,  too,"  returned  Mollie,  proudly. 
"  But  do  you  know,  Wave,  I  have  been  grumbling  dreadfully. 
'  Grumps'  is  not  a  bit  comfortable ;"  and  she  pinched  the  old 
moreen  cushions  rather  pettishly.  "  But  Nurse  Helena  prom- 
ises that  I  shall  have  my  lovely  new  couch  down  to-morrow. 
It  will  stand  quite  well  in  that  corner  between  the  window  and 
fireplace,  and  I  shall  be  able  to  see  any  one  who  comes  to  the 
gate.     It  is  so  stupid  only  to  lie  and  look  at  the  fire." 

"Of  course  it  is,  you  poor  dear;  but  you  will  soon  be 
watching  the  waves  breaking  on    the  beach,   so  cheer  up, 

263 


Mollie's  Prince 

sweetheart."  But  it  was  evident  that  Mollie  was  not  listen- 
ing. Something  else  was  occupying  her  thoughts.  Her  fin- 
gers played  absently  with  Waveney's  curly  hair  as  she  knelt 
beside  her.     Then  she  drew  a  note  from  under  her  pillow. 

"  Nurse  Helena  brought  me  this  on  my  break  fast- tray,"  she 
said,  flushing  a  little  as  she  spoke  ;  "  but  I  have  not  answered 
it  yet.  I  want  you  to  tell  me  what  I  ought  to  do."  Then 
Waveney,  who  had  recognized  Ingram's  handwriting,  read  it 
somewhat  eagerly. 

"  My  dear  Miss  Mollie,"  was  all  it  said — "  Do  you  think 
you  are  well  enough  to  see  an  old  friend  ?  I  need  not  tell 
you  what  pleasure  it  will  give  me  if  you  will  allow  me  to 
come.  You  shall  choose  your  own  day  and  hour — any  time 
from  cockcrow  to  midnight  will  be  equally  convenient  to 
"  Yours  most  sincerely," 

"Monsieur  Blackie." 

"Short  and  sweet,"  observed  Waveney,  smiling  at  the 
superscription;  but  Mollie  was  in  no  mood  for  trifling. 

"What  am  I  to  say?"  she  asked,  anxiously,  and  her  eyes 
looked  bright  with  excitement. 

"  My  darling,  that  is  for  you  to  decide.  Are  you  sure  that 
you  are  quite  strong  enough  to  see  Mr.  Ingram  ?  Shall  we  ask 
Nurse  Helena  what  she  thinks  about  it  ?' ' 

"I  have  asked  her,"  replied  Mollie.  "And  she  said  that 
if  I  did  not  stay  up  too  long,  or  tire  myself  with  talking,  that 
probably  I  should  be  well  enough  to  see  a  visitor,  the  day  after 
lorrow." 

Well,  dear,  shall  I  write  and  tell  him  so?    Shall  I  ask  him 
to  come  in  the  morning,  or  the  afternoon  ?" 

"Oh,  the  afternoon,  please.  But  Waveney," — and  here 
Mollie  seemed  on  the  verge  of  tears — "  of  course  I  want  to 
see  Mr.  Ingram,  but  yet  I  do  dread  it  so.  What  am  I  to  say 
to  him  ?  And  how  am  I  to  thank  him,  for  all  he  has  done  ?  I 
feel  quite  overwhelmed  by  it  all."  And  then,  as  Mollie  was 
still  very  weak,  one  or  two  tears  rolled  down  her  cheeks ;  but 
Waveney  kissed  them  away. 

"  Oh,  you  silly  child  !"  she  said,  tenderly.  "  Fancy  crying, 
just  because  a  kind  friend  wants  to  come  and  see  you  !  Why, 
it  will  do  you  all  the  good  in  the  world  !  There  is  no  one  so 
amusing  as  Monsieur  Blackie.  Take  my  advice,  Mollie  dear. 
Be  as  kind  to  him  as  you  like,  but  don't  trouble  your  poor 

264 


"What  Am  I  to  Say?" 

little  head  about  making  him  grateful  speeches.  Wait  until 
you  are  stronger.  You  may  depend  upon  it,"  she  continued, 
"  that  the  Black  Prince  has  simply  been  pleasing  himself, 
quite  as  much  as  he  has  you.  I  expect  generosity  is  just  an 
amiable  vice  of  his — a  sort  of  craze,  don't  you  know.  He 
likes  playing  minor  providence  in  other  people's  lives.  It 
makes  him  feel  warm  and  comfortable."  But  Mollie  was 
quite  indignant  at  this. 

"  You  are  very  clever,"  she  said,  rather  petulantly.  "But 
you  talk  great  nonsense,  sometimes.  An  amiable  vice,  in- 
deed !  I  should  like  father  to  hear  that !  Why,  the  other 
night  he  said,  quite  seriously,  that  Mr.  Ingram  had  been  a 
perfect  godsend  to  us  all.  And  Waveney" — and  here  Mollie's 
voice  grew  plaintive — "  I  do  feel  as  though  I  owe  my  life  to 
him.  For  if  it  had  not  been  for  Sir  Hindley,  and  Nurse 
Helena,  and  Nurse  Miriam  I  should  never  have  got  well — for 
father  had  no  money,  and  what  could  we  have  done?"  and 
here  Mollie  broke  off  with  a  sob. 

"Darling,  do  you  think  I  don't  know  all  that?"  returned 
Waveney,  vexed  with  herself  for  her  attempt  at  a  joke.  "  I 
would  not  undervalue  Mr.  Ingram's  kindness  for  the  world. 
He  has  been  our  benefactor — yours,  and  mine,  and  father's, 
and  Noel's.  As  for  myself,  I  could  grovel  in  the  dust  at  his 
feet,  out  of  sheer  gratitude  for  all  his  goodness  to  my  Mollie. 
What  I  meant  to  say  was  this  :  Mr.  Ingram  does  not  want  our 
thanks.  We  are  his  friends,  and  he  just  loves  to  help  us.  So 
be  as  nice  to  him  as  you  like,  sweetheart,  but  don't  embarrass 
him  with  grateful  speeches,  for  you  would  certainly  cry  over 
them — and  then  he  will  get  into  a  panic,  and  ring  violently 
for  Nurse  Helena."  And  then  Mollie  laughed.  And  after 
that  they  talked  with  their  old  cheerfulness.  Indeed,  Wave- 
ney was  quite  wild  with  spirits.  For  Althea  had  told  her, 
that  morning,  that  she  would  give  her  a  month's  holiday, 
when  Mollie  went  to  Eastbourne. 

It  so  happened  that  Waveney  had  promised  to  spend  an 
hour  at  the  Hospital  with  Corporal  Marks  on  the  very  after- 
noon that  was  fixed  for  Mr.  Ingram's  visit.  The  old  man  was 
depressed  and  ailing.  "  Jonadab  has  never  got  over  the  ser- 
geant's loss,"  as  his  sister  used  to  say;  and  she  reminded 
Mollie  of  this. 

"  It  just  fits  in  nicely,"  she  observed  ;  "  for,  you  see,  two  is 
company,  and  three's  none,  and  I  should  have  been  dread- 
fully in  the  way.     But  I  shall  be  back  in  time  to  make  tea  for 

265 


Mollie's  Prince 

Mr.  Ingram,  and  we  will  have  a  cosy  little  time  together. 
Now  I  must  go,  dear,  for  I  promised  Miss  Althea  that  I  would 
not  be  late.     So  good-bye  until  the  day  after  to-morrow." 

"I  wish  it  were  to-morrow,"  whispered  Mollie,  feverishly. 
"I  do  so  hate  waiting  for  anything  like  that.  I  shall  just 
think  about  it,  and  what  I  am  to  say,  until  I  get  quite  nervous. 
There,  don't  talk  about  it  any  more;"  and  Mollie,  who  looked 
flushed  and  tired,  pushed  her  gently  away. 

Waveney  had  promised  to  have  luncheon  with  her  father 
before  she  went  to  the  Hospital,  and  when  Wednesday  came 
she  went  up  to  the  studio  to  have  a  peep  at  the  invalid. 

"Why,  Mollie!"  she  exclaimed,  as  she  entered  the  room, 
"  it  is  quite  a  transformation  scene  !" 

And,  indeed,  the  shabby  old  studio  looked  wonderfully 
bright  and  cosy.  The  round  table  had  been  moved  to  the 
othor  side  of  the  room,  and  Mollie' s  pretty  couch,  and  a  low 
table  that  Ingram  had  sent  for  her  use,  were  placed  between 
the  fireplace  and  window,  and  a  bowl  of  Neapolitan  violets 
was  beside  her.  There  were  flowers  everywhere,  and  as  for 
Mollie, — "Oh,  you  dear  thing!  how  sweet  you  look!"  re- 
marked Waveney,  with  a  hug. 

And,  indeed,  Mollie  had  never  looked  more  lovely.  Nurse 
Helena  had  fastened  two  little  pink  rosebuds  in  the  lace  at  her 
throat,  and  their  soft,  delicate  tint  just  matched  Mollie's 
cheeks ;  she  had  a  tiny  gold  vinaigrette  in  her  hand,  which 
she  showed  Waveney. 

"It  came  this  morning,  with  the  flowers,"  she  said,  rather 
shyly. 

Waveney  looked  at  it  silently.  "M.  W."  was  engraved 
on  it. 

"Is  it  not  beautiful,  Wave?  But  I  wish — I  wish  he  had 
not  sent  it." 

When  luncheon  was  over,  Everard  walked  with  Waveney  to 
the  door  of  the  Hospital.  He  had  a  tiring  afternoon's  work 
before  him.  By  tacit  consent,  neither  of  them  spoke  much  of 
Ingram's  visit. 

"  I  hope  it  will  not  tire  Mollie  too  much,"  was  all  Waveney 
said.  And  once  Everard  hazarded  the  observation  that  Ingram 
was  sure  to  be  punctual. 


266 


"  See  the  Conquering  Hero  Comes !: 


CHAPTER   XXXVI. 
"SEE  the  conquering  hero  comes  I" 

"  That  man  that  hath  a  tongue,  I  say,  is  no  man, 
If,  with  his  tongue,  he  cannot  win  a  woman." 

Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona. 

"  Love  looks  not  with  the  eyes,  but  with  the  mind, 
And  therefore  is  wing'd  Cupid  painted  blind." 

A  Midsummer  Night's  Dream. 

As  Moritz  drove  to  Cleveland  Terrace,  he  carefully  re- 
hearsed his  part,  as  he  had  already  rehearsed  it  a  dozen  times 
before. 

"I  am  going  to  see  your  sister  this  afternoon/'  he  had 
said  to  Noel  at  breakfast  that  morning.  "Miss  Mollie,  I 
mean  ;  have  you  any  message  for  her  ?' ' 

"No;  only  my  love,  and  that  sort  of  thing,"  returned 
Noel,  coolly,  as  he  cut  himself  another  slice  of  bread. 
And  then,  contrary  to  his  custom,  for  he  was  one  of  the  most 
talkative  and  sociable  of  men,  Ingram  relapsed  into  silence. 

"Feels  a  bit  grumpy,  I  fancy,"  thought  Noel,  with  a  sup- 
pressed grin.  "  If  I  ever  have  a  young  woman,  I  wonder  if  I 
should  feel  in  that  way.  Why,  the  poor  old  chap  has  had 
hardly  any  breakfast."  And  Noel  shook  his  head  solemnly, 
and  adjusted  his  pince-nez ,  and  then  helped  himself  liberally 
to  the  cold  game  pie. 

Ingram's  knowledge  of  invalids  and  sick-rooms  was  purely 
rudimentary.  He  had  a  theory  that  sick  people  must  be 
treated  like  children.  They  must  be  coaxed,  amused,  and 
made  as  cheerful  as  possible ;  there  must  be  no  agitation,  no 
bringing  forward  of  exciting  or  perplexing  topics,  no  undue 
warmth  of  expression  and  feeling. 

"  I  must  be  perfectly  cool  and  quiet,"  Ingram  said  to  him- 
self, as  he  came  in  sight  of  the  house.  "I  must  not  let  her 
see  what  I  have  gone  through  all  this  time  ;  Monsieur  Blackie 
must  take  no  liberties — he  must  be  just  kind  and  friendly." 
Cut  as  the  brougham  stopped,  Ingram  looked  a  little  pale, 

267 


Mollie's  Prince 

although  he  put  on  his  usual  sprightly  air  as  he  went  up  the 
courtyard. 

Pride  must  have  its  fall,  says  the  old  proverb.  And  perhaps 
Ingram,  who  was  an  Idealist,  relied  a  little  too  much  on  his 
theories  and  good  intentions;  as  Noel  would  have  said,  he 
was  too  cocksure  of  himself. 

Anyhow,  when  Ann,  of  the  heavy  foot,  ushered  him  up  to 
the  old  studio,  where  he  and  Everard  Ward  had  passed  so 
many  hours  of  misery  and  suspense,  and  he  saw  Mollie's 
sweet  face,  flushing  and  paling  with  shy  pleasure,  Ingram 
found  himself  unable  to  say  a  word  for  the  sudden  choking 
sensation  in  his  throat ;  he  could  only  stand  there  like  a  fool, 
holding  the  thin  little  hand  that  Mollie  had  silently  held  out 
to  him. 

"Won't  you  sit  down?"  observed  Mollie,  faintly;  but  her 
lips  trembled  as  she  spoke,  for  Ingram's  dumb  emotion  almost 
frightened  her.  It  was  so  unlike  her  dear  old  friend,  Mon- 
sieur Blackie,  to  stand  there  without  a  word  of  kindly  greeting. 
Mollie's  flower-like  face  grew  painfully  suffused.  "  Do  please 
sit  down,"  she  faltered,  with  a  growing  sense  of  discomfort 
and  helplessness. 

Ingram  did  as  he  was  bid,  but  he  did  not  relinquish  her 
hand. 

"Mollie,"  he  said,  and  his  eyes  were  dim  with  a  man's 
trouble,  and  the  passionate  tenderness,  that  he  was  trying 
bravely  to  repress,  was  so  evident  in  his  voice  and  manner 
that  even  Mollie,  innocent  and  guileless  as  she  was,  thrilled 
in  every  nerve. 

"  Perhaps  I  had  better  go  away,"  he  stammered.  "  I  shall 
tire  you,  agitate  you,  if  I  stay.  I  must  not  say  what  I  think, 
and,  by  Heaven,  I  cannot  talk  platitudes,  when  you  have 
come  back  from  the  very  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death. 
Mollie,  shall  I  go? — for  I  cannot  answer  for  myself,  if  I 
remain  !" 

"Why  should  you  go?"  returned  Mollie,  piteously.  "I 
thought  it  would  be  so  nice  to  see  you,  and  I  wanted  so  to 
thank  you.  You  have  done  so  much  for  me!  Waveney  told 
me  that  you  would  not  like  to  be  thanked  ;  but  indeed,  indeed, 
I  am  grateful." 

"Grateful  tome!"  returned  Ingram,  indignantly,  and  he 
dropped  her  hand.  "Mollie,  do  you  wish  to  pain  me,  that 
you  say  such  things  to  me  ?  Gratitude  !  when  I  would  will- 
ingly giye  y°u  everything  I  possess !     Unsay  those  words,  my 

268 


"See  the  Conquering  Hero  Comes !" 

darling,"  he  pleaded,  passionately.  "Don't  you  know  that 
I  love  you  better  than  anything  in  the  world  ?  Oh,  Mollie, 
dearest,  if  I  had  lost  you  I  think  I  should  have  mourned  for 
you  all  my  life." 

Ingram  was  certainly  not  acting  up  to  his  theory.  Mon- 
sieur Blackie  had  utterly  forgotten  his  role.  He  had  promised 
himself  to  keep  perfectly  cool  and  collected,  to  be  kind  and 
friendly,  and  to  avoid  all  emotion  or  excitement,  but  before 
ten  minutes  had  passed  he  was  pouring  out  his  pent-up 
feelings. 

"  Oh,  Mollie,  dear  Mollie!"  he  went  on,  in  a  broken  voice 
— for  Mollie,  shaken  and  agitated,  had  hidden  her  face  in  her 
hands — "all  this  time  I  have  been  trying  to  win  you.  I  want 
you  to  be  my  sweet  wife,  to  give  me  the  right  to  watch  over 
you  all  my  life.  Darling,  do  you  think  you  can  care  for  poor 
Monsieur  Blackie  a  little  ?' ' 

"I  do  care,"  sobbed  Mollie.  "  How  can  I  help  it,  when 
you  have  been  so  good  to  me?  I  think" — but  Mollie  whis- 
dered  this  with  her  soft  cheek  pressed  against  his  shoulder 
as  he  knelt  beside  her — "  I  think  I  have  cared  for  you  all  this 
time."  And  perhaps  that  moment's  ecstasy  fully  repaid 
Moritz  for  all  the  pain  of  the  last  few  weeks. 

Moritz  behaved  very  well  on  the  whole.  When  the  first 
few  minutes  of  beatitude  were  over,  Mollie's  pale  cheeks  and 
tearful  eyes  reminded  him  that  she  was  an  invalid,  and  he 
forbore  to  overwhelm  her  with  his  delight  and  gratitude.  He 
sat  beside  her  talking  quietly,  while  Mollie  lay  back  on  her 
pillows  in  languid  happiness,  listening  to  her  lover.  He  was 
telling  her  how  proud  he  was  of  his  sobriquet,  and  that  no 
other  name  would  ever  be  so  dear  to  him  as  "  Monsieur 
Blackie." 

"  I  hope  you  will  always  call  me  by  that  name,  Mollie, 
darling.     To  you  I  would  always  be  Monsieur  Blackie. ' ' 

"But  Moritz  is  so  much  prettier,"  she  objected;  "and 
Monsieur  Blackie  would  be  so  long  for  daily  use." 

And  then  Ingram  hastened  to  explain,  in  his  eager  way, 
that  he  had  not  meant  that.  Of  course  his  wife — how  Mollie 
blushed  at  that— must  call  him  Moritz  ;  but  he  never  intended 
to  lose  his  dear  old  title. 

"  Wave  often  calls  you  the  Black  Prince,"  returned  Mollie, 
with  a  low  laugh.  "  Oh,  dear,  how  wonderful  it  all  seems  ! 
Do  you  know" — very  shyly — "  I  never  imagined  that  any  one 
would  ever  care  for  me,  because  of  my  lameness.     Are  you 

269 


Mollie's   Prince 

sure  that  you  do  not  really  m-ind  it?"  and  here  Mollie's  voice 
grew  anxious  and  even  sad.  "  I  am  so  awkward  and  clumsy. 
You  know  Noel  often  calls  me  '  the  wobbly  one.'  " 

"Noel  will  never  call  you  that  again,"  returned  Ingram, 
quite  sternly.  "I  gave  him  a  good  lecture  the  other  day. 
Why,  Mollie  dearest,  you  are  simply  perfect  in  my  eyes.  I 
am  afraid  to  tell  you  how  lovely  and  dear  I  think  you.  The 
wonder  is  that  you  could  ever  bring  yourself  to  care  for  me ; 
for,  as  Gwen  says,  I  am  about  as  ugly  as  they  make  'em," 
continued  Ingram,  in  his  quaint  way.  And  then  Mollie 
laughed  again,  though  there  were  tears  in  her  eyes  of  sheer 
joy  and  gratitude. 

Mollie  was  very  humble  on  the  subject  of  her  own  merits; 
she  had  no  conception  how  Ingram  worshipped  her  sweetness 
and  beauty.  His  crowning  triumph  had  heen  that  Monsieur 
Blackie,  and  not  Viscount  Ralston,  had  won  her  love. 

"  Gwen  may  laugh  at  me,  and  call  me  a  fool,"  he  thought, 
"  but  her  sarcasm  and  smart  speech  will  not  trouble  me  in  the 
least.  I  have  played  my  little  game,  and  got  my  innings,  and 
the  loveliest  and  dearest  prize  in  the  world  is  mine."  And 
then  he  fell  to  musing  blissfully  on  the  surprise  in  store  for  his 
sweetheart.  What  would  Mollie  say  when  he  showed  her  her 
future  home  ?  What  would  she  think  of  Brentwood  Hall,  and 
the  Silent  Pool,  and  the  big  conservatory  that  Gwen  had  called 
their  winter-garden,  and  the  long  picture-gallery,  where,  in 
an  obscure  corner,  "  King  Canute"  hung  as  large  as  life? 

Moritz  smiled  happily  to  himself  as  he  thought  of  the  family 
diamonds,  over  which  Gwen  had  gloated,  and  which  he  had 
vainly  entreated  her  to  wear. 

"Jack  would  not  like  it,"  Gwen  had  answered,  gravely. 
"jThey  are  for  the  future  Lady  Ralston,  not  for  me." 

How  glad  he  was  now  that  Gwen's  unworldliness  and  good 
sense  had  been  proof  against  the  temptation  !  For  in  those 
days  how  was  he  to  know  that  a  certain  sweet  Mollie  Ward 
would  steal  away  his  heart?  When  Mollie  asked  him,  a  little 
curiously,  why  he  was  smiling,  Moritz  returned,  without  a 
moment  s  hesitation,  that  he  was  merely  thanking  Heaven 
that  she  was  not  rich  in  worldly  goods. 

Mollie  opened  her  eyes  rather  widely  at  this. 

"I  mean,  dear,  that  I  shall  so  love  to  give  you  all  you 
want,"  he  said,  tenderly. 

"  But — but  you  are  not  really  rich,  are  you?"  asked  Mollie. 
"  Of  course  I  know  you  are  not  poor,  because  of  all  the  lovely 

270 


"See  the  Conquering  Hero  Comes!" 

things  you  have  given  me,  and — and "     But  here  Mollie 

stopped;  she  had  not  the  courage  to  mention  Sir  Hindley's 
fees. 

"  No,  I  am  not  poor,"  returned  Ingram,  quietly.  "  I  have 
had  a  nice  little  property  left  me  by  a  relative.  We  shall  be 
very  comfortable,  dear,  and  when  you  are  my  wife  you  will 
not  have  to  bother  your  poor  little  head  with  making  ends 
meet."  For  once  he  had  discovered  Mollie  shedding  tears 
over  her  battered  little  housekeeping  book,  because  she  had 
exceeded  the  week's  allowance.  It  was  only  seven-and-six- 
pence,  or  some  such  paltry  sum,  but  Mollie  was  covered  with 
shame  at  her  own  carelessness,  and  Ingram,  who  was,  even  in 
those  early  days,  head  over  ears  in  love,  longed  to  take  her  in 
his  arms  and  kiss  the  tears  away. 

"Yes,  I  think  we  shall  be  very  comfortable,  darling,"  went 
on  Ingram,  somewhat  hypocritically,  as  he  remembered  with 
secret  glee  his  thirty  thousand  a  year.  Then,  as  even  his  in- 
experienced eyes  detected  signs  of  exhaustion  in  Mollie's 
increasing  paleness,  he  somewhat  quickly  dropped  the  subject. 

Mollie  was  not  merely  tired ;  she  was  dazed  with  the  won- 
derful new  happiness  that  had  come  to  her.  In  spite  of  her 
love  of  pretty  things,  her  little  girlish  vanities  and  harmless 
ambitions,  she  was  far  too  simple-minded  to  be  really  worldly. 
If  Moritz,  in  the  old  approved  fairy-tale  fashion,  had  suddenly 
filled  her  lap  with  diamonds  and  emeralds,  they  would  only 
have  dazzled  Mollie's  tired  eyes.  Later  on,  perhaps,  these 
baubles  and  adjuncts  of  rank  and  wealth  would  gratify  and 
delight  her,  but  at  this  present  moment  she  would  have 
regarded  them  with  indifference. 

It  was  the  man,  Moritz  Ingram,  whom  she  wanted.  It  was 
Monsieur  Blackie,  with  all  his  quaintness,  his  oddities,  and 
eccentricities,  his  old-world  chivalry,  and  true,  manly  tender- 
ness, whom  Mollie  loved  and  honoured.  Mollie,  with  all 
her  simplicity  and  childliness,  had  been  wiser  than  most 
women,  in  going  straight  to  the  root  of  the  matter.  It  was 
nothing  to  her  that  her  chosen  lover  was  short  of  stature — a 
small,  dark  man,  with  a  sallow  skin,  and  closely-cropped  hair 
that  would  have  done  credit  to  a  convict.  Mollie  saw  nothing 
but  the  kind,  dear  eyes,  and  pleasant  smile,  and  she  would 
not  have  exchanged  him  for  any  Adonis,  though  he  stood  six 
feet  in  his  stockings. 

Moritz's  conscience  was  uneasy.  More  than  once  he  had 
made  an  effort  to  go,  but  Mollie's  soft  little  hand  had  kept 

271 


Mollie's  Prince 

him  a  willing  prisoner.  "  Waveney  will  be  here  directly," 
she  said.  "  She  has  promised  to  make  tea  for  us."  And  at 
that  very  moment  Waveney  entered  the  room. 

The  lamp  had  not  been  lighted,  and  only  the  firelight  threw 
a  flickering,  uncertain  glow  over  the  two  faces  before  her. 
But  something  in  Mr.  Ingram's  attitude,  in  the  very  atmos- 
phere of  the  warm,  flower-scented  room,  made  Waveney' s 
heart  beat  with  quick,  sympathetic  throbs. 

"  Oh,  what  is  it?"  she  said,  stumbling  a  little  in  her  haste. 
But,  as  she  put  out  her  hands  to  save  herself,  Ingram  caught 
them  in  his  own. 

"My  little  Samaritan,"  he  said,  affectionately,  "do  you 
know,  I  am  going  to  be  your  brother.  Will  you  wish  me  joy, 
dear ! ' '  And  then  in  his  airy,  foreign  fashion,  Moritz  lifted 
her  hand  to  his  lips. 

"  My  brother  !"  gasped  Waveney.  Well,  she  had  expected 
it.  But,  all  the  same,  she  felt  a  little  giddy.  Mollie's  Prince 
had  come,  as  she  knew  he  would,  and  would  carry  Mollie 
away. 

"Darling,  come  here,"  and  Mollie  stretched  out  her  arms 
almost  piteously.  "  Wave,  why  do  you  stand  there,  as  though 
you  were  turned  to  stone  ?  Don't  you  want  me  to  be  happy  ?' ' 
she  whispered,  as  Waveney,  at  this  appeal,  knelt  down  beside 
her. 

"Oh,  Mollie!"  returned  poor  Waveney,  "I  know  that  I 
ought  to  be  glad,  and  I  am  glad.  But" — with  a  sob  that 
would  not  be  kept  back — "But — but,  I  have  lost  my  old 
sweetheart." 

"Never!"  returned  Mollie,  energetically,  and  her  arms 
were  round  her  sister's  neck  as  she  spoke.  "  Wave,  dear,  you 
must  not  say  such  things.  Nothing,  nothing,  can  ever  come 
between  us,  or  make  our  love  less.  Kiss  me,  darling,"  she 
went  on,  "and  promise  me  that  you  will  never  say  that 
again."  And  then,  as  Waveney  stooped  over  her,  she  whis- 
pered in  her  ear:  "After  all,  I  have  found  out  the  best  way 
of  thanking  him." 

Perhaps  it  was  as  well  that  Nurse  Helena  made  her  appear- 
ance at  that  moment  with  the  lamp,  and  so  broke  up  the 
agitated  little  group.  Waveney  got  up,  feeling  rather  guilty, 
when  Nurse  Helena  commented  somewhat  severely  on  Mollie's 
flushed  and  tired  face. 

"  There  has  been  too  much  talking,"  she  said,  in  her  quiet, 
authoritative  voice.     "  Miss  Mollie  must  have  her  tea,  and  go 

272 


"  See  the  Conquering  Hero  Comes !" 

upstairs  and  rest."  And  then  she  regarded  Ingram  rather 
suspiciously.  Nevertheless,  when  she  went  out  of  the  room 
there  was  an  amused  twinkle  in  the  nurse's  grey  eyes. 

When  Ann  brought  up  the  tea-tray  Waveney  was  assiduous 
in  her  attentions  to  Mollie  and  her  fiance.  She  chatted  to 
Ingram  in  her  old  frank  way.  Mollie  was  to  rest  and  listen 
to  them ;  she  was  to  enjoy  her  tea  and  the  delicate  tongue 
sandwiches  that  Nurse  Helena  had  cut  so  carefully.  But 
Nurse  Helena  was  right,  and  there  must  be  no  more  talking. 
And  then  she  amused  them  both  by  retailing  to  them  the 
corporal's  odd  speeches. 

Directly  tea  was  over  Ingram  took  his  leave.  "Before 
Nurse  Helena  turns  me  out,"  he  observed,  with  a  laugh. 
Waveney,  who  waited  for  him  outside,  was  somewhat  taken 
aback  at  the  length  of  the  farewell.  "  Parting  is  such  sweet 
sorrow,"  she  said  to  herself;  but  she  sighed  as  she  said  it. 
Waveney,  who  was  bitten  with  the  same  disease,  was  certainly 
not  disposed  to  be  hypercritical  on  the  behaviour  of  the  lovers. 

She  had  a  few  words  with  Mollie  before  nurse  came  to 
claim  her  charge. 

"Oh,  Wave,  I  cannot  understand  it!"  Mollie  exclaimed, 
and  her  eyes  looked  bright  and  excited.  "  Fancy  my  being 
engaged  before  you  !  I,  who  never  expected  to  have  a  lover 
of  my  own  !  Dearest,  you  must  love  him  for  my  sake,  he  is 
so  good.  Oh,  there  is  no  one  like  him  !  ' '  and  Mollie  seemed 
almost  appalled  at  the  magnitude  of  her  bliss. 

Waveney  had  promised  to  wait  for  her  father ;  he  was  to 
put  her  into  the  train.  And  Althea  had  directed  her  to  take 
a  cab  from  Dereham  station  straight  to  the  Red  House. 

Everard  was  somewhat  later  than  usual,  and  they  had  only 
a  little  while  together.  He  listened  to  the  wonderful  news 
with  the  air  of  a  man  who  had  fully  expected  it. 

"  I  knew  Ingram  would  steal  a  march  on  us,"  he  said,  rub- 
bing his  hands  together.  "  I  told  him  to  wait  until  the  child 
was  stronger,  and  I  thought  he  agreed  to  this ;  but  you  can 
never  depend  on  a  man  when  he  is  in  love.  And  so  Mollie 
really  cares  for  him,"  went  on  Everard,  in  a  pleased  voice. 
"Well,  she  is  a  sensible  girl,  and  does  me  credit.  As  for 
Ingram,  he  is  a  capital  fellow,  a  son-in-law  after  my  own 
heart,"  went  on  Everard,  with  a  smile  that  perplexed  Wave- 
ney, it  was  so  mysterious  and  yet  so  full  of  amusement. 


18  273 


Mollie's  Prince 
CHAPTER   XXXVII. 

A   DEVOUT   LOVER. 

"  A  man  he  seems  of  cheerful  yesterdays 
And  confident  to-morrows." 

Wordsworth. 

"  I  do  perceive  here  a  divided  duty." 

Othello. 

When  Waveney  broke  the  news  of  Mollie's  engagement  to 
her  friends  at  the  Red  House,  the  sisters  only  looked  at  each 
other  with  a  meaning  smile. 

''So  that  is  the  end  of  the  comedy,"  observed  Althea,  in 
an  amused  voice.  "  '  All's  well  that  ends  well,'  eh,  Dorrie? 
Of  course  we  all  knew  how  it  would  end,  that  evening  at  the 
theatre." 

"To  be  sure  we  did,"  returned  Doreen,  complacently. 

Nothing  ever  ruffled  her  placidity.  If  people  chose  to  be 
engaged  or  married,  it  was  their  affair,  not  hers.  Doreen 
never  envied  them,  never  drew  unfavourable  comparisons  be- 
tween her  friends'  matrimonial  bliss  and  her  own  single 
blessedness.  She  had  walked  contentedly  "  in  maiden  medi- 
tation, fancy  free,"  all  these  years.  "  I  was  cut  out  for  an  old 
maid,"  she  would  say  sometimes,  laughingly,  to  her  sister; 
"  the  role  just  suits  me.  You  are  different,"  she  once  added, 
looking  rather  wistfully  at  Althea  as  she  spoke. 

"Yes,"  replied  Althea,  frankly,  "you  and  I  are  different 
people,  Dorrie.  You  are  the  happiest  and  most  contented 
woman  I  know ;  but" — a  little  pathetically — "  I  have  not  had 
all  my  good  things."  And,  though  she  said  no  more,  Doreen 
understood  her. 

"It  is  very  odd  to  think  that  that  pretty  little  Mollie  Ward 
is  to  be  a  connection  of  ours,"  went  on  Doreen,  when  Wave- 
ney had  bidden  them  good-night.  Waveney' s  heart  was  so 
full  that  she  yearned  to  be  alone  in  her  Pansy  Room  and 
think  over  the  day's  excitement.  "Mollie  will  be  our 
cousin."  And  as  Althea  assented  to  this  with  a  smile,  she 
continued,  "  I  wonder  what  Gwen  will  think  of  her  new  sister- 
in-law?" 

274 


A  Devout  Lover 

"  My  dear  Dorrie,  I  think  I  can  answer  that.  Gwen  will 
be  charmed  with  her.  You  know  how  much  Gwen  thinks  of 
beauty,  and  where  will  you  find  a  sweeter  face  than  Mollie's? 
Then  she  is  such  a  dear  little  unsophisticated  thing.  Ah, 
Gwen  will  lose  her  heart  to  her,  you  may  depend  on  that. 
Upon  my  word,"  she  went  on,  "I  think  Moritz  has  not 
chosen  so  badly,  after  all.  Indeed,  for  an  idealist,  he  has  done 
very  well  for  himself,  and  I  shall  write  and  congratulate  him 
most  cordially.  Mollie  will  make  a  most  fascinating  little 
viscountess.  She  will  have  much  to  learn,  of  course ;  but  she 
will  be  no  faint-hearted  Lady  of  Burleigh,  sinking  weakly 
under  the  burden  of  'an  honour  into  which  she  was  not 
born,'  "  finished  Althea,  with  a  little  laugh.  And  then,  as 
the  old  grand-father's  clock  in  the  hall  struck  ten,  Doreen 
rang  the  bell  for  prayers. 

Althea  did  more  than  write  her  letter  of  congratulation. 
She  drove  down  all  the  way  to  Cleveland  Terrace  a  day  or  two 
afterwards,  to  see  Mollie,  and  wish  her  joy ;  and  she  was  so 
kind  and  sympathetic,  she  praised  Moritz,  and  said  so  many 
nice  things  about  him  that  Mollie  was  ready  to  worship  her 
for  her  tact  and  gentleness. 

Mollie's  pretty  bloom  was  returning  to  her  cheeks,  and  on 
her  left  hand  there  was  a  splendid  half-hoop  of  diamonds. 
She  showed  her  ring  to  Althea,  with  a  child's  shy  eagerness. 

"It  is  far  too  beautiful,"  she  said,  proudly;  "  but  he  did 
not  buy  it  for  me — it  belonged  to  that  old  relative  who  left 
him  the  property." 

"Oh,  indeed,"  returned  Althea,  with  polite  interest;  but 
there  was  an  amused  gleam  in  her  eyes.  Of  course  the  ring 
had  belonged  to  old  Lady  Ralston,  who  had  been  a  beauty 
and  an  heiress,  and  whose  diamonds  had  been  the  envy  of  all 
the  dowagers  at  the  county  ball.  And  then  Moritz  had  come 
in  and  interrupted  them.  He  was  evidently  taken  aback  at 
the  sight  of  his  cousin  Althea ;  but  her  cordial  welcome  and 
her  warm  congratulations  soon  restored  his  equanimity,  and 
he  was  soon  chatting  to  her  and  Mollie  in  his  old  light-hearted 
fashion. 

Mollie  was  to  go  down  to  Eastbourne  the  following  wee!:, 
and  the  two  girls  were  to  be  chaperoned  by  Nurse  Helena. 
Mollie  was  recovering  her  strength  so  fast  that  Nurse  Helena's 
office  was  likely  to  be  a  sinecure.  But  when  Althea  pointed 
this  out  very  gently  to  Moritz,  he  put  his  foot  down  very 
decidedly. 

275 


Mollie's  Prince 

"Of  course,  Mollie  was  getting  better,"  he  said,  with  the 
air  of  an  autocrat,  and  the  sea-breezes  would  soon  set  her 
up.  But  how  could  his  cousin  Althea  imagine  that  two  girls 
could  be  alone  at  a  place  like  Eastbourne  ?  The  very  idea 
shocked  him.  As  Mr.  Ward  could  not  leave  town,  except 
from  Saturday  to  Monday,  he  had  insisted  that  Nurse  Helena 
should  be  put  in  charge.  "I  shall  run  down  myself  every 
few  days,"  he  finished,  "and  I  suppose  one  has  to  study  the 
proprieties."     Then  Althea  very  wisely  held  her  peace. 

Moritz  went  to  the  station  to  see  them  off.  The  girls  were 
in  high  spirits,  and  Mollie,  who  knew  that  she  would  see  him 
again  before  many  days  were  over,  could  hardly  summon  up 
gravity  enough  to  bid  him  good-bye.  It  was  Moritz  who 
looked  melancholy ;  London  was  a  howling  wilderness  to  him 
without  his  darling.  He  had  sent  Noel  back  to  keep  house 
with  his  father,  and  he  meant  to  go  down  to  Brentwood  Hall 
and  seek  consolation  with  Gwen  and  her  boy.  Gwen  would 
give  him  all  the  sympathy  he  demanded  ;  she  was  as  romantic 
and  unconventional  as  he  was.  Gwen  dearly  liked  a  lover ; 
she  would  listen  patiently  to  all  his  discourse  on  Mollie's  per- 
iections,  and  she  would  help  him  with  the  decorations,  and 
the  refurnishing  of  the  rooms  that  were  to  be  got  ready  for 
his  young  wife. 

Moritz,  who  had  been  such  a  patient  wooer,  was  now  in 
hot  haste  to  clinch  his  bargain. 

Mollie,  startled  and  protesting,  had  been  carried  away  by 
his  masterful  eloquence,  and  had  signed  away  her  freedom. 
They  were  to  be  married  in  the  middle  of  August,  and  to 
spend  thoir  honeymoon  at  his  shooting  box  in  the  Highlands. 
The  moorland  air  would  be  good  for  Mollie,  he  said,  and 
they  and  the  grouse  would  have  it  to  themselves. 

"I  don't  hold  with  rushing  about  from  place  to  place,  on 
one's  wedding  trip,"  he  observed  to  Althea — for  he  had  his 
theories  on  this  subject  also.  "When  Jack  and  Gwen  were 
married,  they  went  off  to  the  Austrian  Tyrol,  and  Heaven 
knows  where  besides.  But  I  know  a  thing  or  two  better  than 
that.  The  Hut  is  a  cosy  little  place,  and  there  are  some 
comfortable  rooms  in  it.  I  will  send  down  Murdoch — he  is  a 
Highlander  and  a  handy  fellow,  too,  and  his  wife  is  a  capable 
woman — to  make  things  ship-shape  for  a  lady.  We  will  have 
a  few  days  in  Edinburgh  first,  and  show  Mollie  Holyrood  and 
Arthur's  Seat,  and  she  shall  feast  her  eyes  on  the  shops  in 
Princes    Street" — for    Moritz    remembered,    with    lover-like 

276 


A  Devout  Lover 

accuracy,  Mollie's  girlish  penchant  for  shop-windows.  Moritz 
could  be  practical  on  occasion,  and  he  somewhat  astonished 
Althea,  when  he  took  her  into  his  confidence,  by  his  thought- 
fulness  for  his  young  fiancee1  s  comfort. 

It  was  to  his  cousin  Althea  that  Moritz  entrusted  the  for- 
midable but  delightful  task  of  ordering  the  trousseau.  Gwen 
was  too  far  from  London  to  undertake  such  an  onerous  busi- 
ness ;  he  had  already  talked  the  matter  over  with  Mr.  Ward, 
and  had  wrung  from  him  a  reluctant  consent.  Even  Everard's 
pride  and  independence  could  not  resist  Moritz' s  urgent  en- 
treaties that  a  trousseau  befitting  Mollie's  future  rank  should  be 
provided  at  his  expense.  But  before  this  could  be  done,  Mol- 
lie  must  see  her  future  home,  and  be  made  aware  of  her  splen- 
did position.  And  for  this  purpose  it  was  arranged  that,  when 
the  month  at  Eastbourne  was  over,  she  should  pay  a  visit  to 
the  Red  House ;  and  then  Moritz's  long-deferred  picnic  to 
Brentwood  should  take  place. 

Althea  had  her  own  little  plans,  which  she  did  not  impart 
to  Moritz,  although  she  had  already  talked  them  over  with 
Waveney. 

"You  know,  my  dear  child,"  she  had  said,  seriously,  to 
her,  the  evening  before  Waveney  started  for  Eastbourne. 
"I  have  been  thinking  a  great  deal  of  you  and  Mollie,  and 
I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  part  with  my  dear  little  com- 
panion." 

"What  can  you  mean?"  asked  Waveney,  in  a  startled 
voice;  but  she  flushed  uneasily.  "  I  know  I  have  been  very 
little  use  to  you  lately,  and  that  I  have  neglected  my  duties 
shamefully;  but  I  was  going  to  speak  to  you  about  that; 
I  want  you  to  give  me  less  money— indeed — indeed,"  as 
Althea  looked  extremely  amused  at  this,  uIam  quite  serious. 
I  have  not  earned  my  salary,  and  I  cannot  take  it — it  would 
not  be  honest ;"  and  here  Waveney  drew  up  her  slight  figure, 
and  looked  very  resolute. 

"Why,  Waveney,  my  dear  child,"  remonstrated  Althea, 
"  surely  you  are  not  going  to  disappoint  me  after  all  these 
months  !  I  thought  we  were  such  good  friends,  you  and  I, 
and  that  we  understood  each  other  thoroughly  !"  And  as  the 
girl  looked  at  her  in  dumb  questioning  she  continued,  affec- 
tionately, "  Dear  friends  do  not  differ  for  a  trifle,  or  stand  on 
their  dignity.  What  are  a  few  pounds,  more  or  less,  compared 
to  all  you  and  Mollie  have  done  for  me?" 

"How  do  you  mean,  dear  Miss  Althea?"  asked  Waveney, 

277 


Mollie's  Prince 

quite  taken  aback  at  this.     "I  have  done  little  enough,  I 
know,  and  as  for  Mollie " 

"You  have  brought  fresh  interests  into  my  life,"  returned 
Althea,  quietly.  "You  have  given  me  two  more  human 
beings  to  serve  and  love.  Yes,"  she  continued,  but  her  voice 
was  not  quite  steady,  "  I  am  very  fond  of  you  and  your  pretty 
Mollie,  and  it  adds  to  my  happiness  to  feel  that  I  am  any 
help  or  comfort  to  either  of  you." 

"Comfort!  What  should  I  have  done  without  you?"  re- 
plied Waveney,  with  emotion.  "  My  own  mother  could  hardly 
have  been  kinder  and  more  patient ! ' '  Then  Althea  flushed 
slightly. 

"Well,  then,  you  will  be  a  good  child,  and  let  me  finish 
what  I  have  to  say."  And  then,  in  her  clear,  sensible  way, 
she  explained  her  views  about  the  future. 

When  Mollie  married,  Waveney  would  have  to  leave  them. 
It  was  impossible  for  her  father  and  Noel  to  do  without  her. 

And  Waveney,  who  had  not  taken  this  into  consideration, 
felt  a  sudden  thrill  of  pain  at  the  idea  of  leaving  the  Red 
House. 

As  this  was  the  case,  went  on  Althea,  she  and  Doreen  both 
agreed  that  it  would  be  cruel  to  part  her  and  Mollie  during 
the  few  months  that  remained  to  them.  Mollie  was  coming 
to  the  Red  House  for  some  weeks  to  do  her  shopping,  but 
when  she  went  back  to  Cleveland  Terrace,  Waveney  must  go 
with  her.  "  That  is  why  I  say  that  you  and  I  must  part,  my 
child,"  finished  Althea,  gently.  "I  shall  miss  my  bright 
companion  sadly — so  sadly,  indeed,  that  I  never  mean  to  have 
another.  But,  Waveney,  your  father  has  the  first  claim  to  your 
services.  I  dare  not  deprive  him  of  your  society  when  Mollie 
has  gone.  There,  we  will  not  talk  any  more,"  as  she  saw  that 
Waveney 's  eyes  were  full  of  tears.  "  Think  over  what  I  have 
said  when  you  are  at  Eastbourne,  and  take  Mollie  into  your 
confidence.     I  know  she  will  say  that  I  am  right." 

And,  indeed,  when  Waveney  consulted  her,  Mollie,  who 
was  a  very  sensible  little  person,  fully  endorsed  Queen  Bess's 
opinion. 

"Of  course  I  could  not  do  without  you,  darling,"  she  re- 
marked with  decision.  "  Moritz" — she  always  said  his  name 
so  prettily  and  shyly — "  would  not  like  me  to  be  alone,  and  as 
for  father  and  Noel,  they  would  be  too  uncomfortable  with 
only  that  stupid  Ann  to  look  after  them."  And  then  Wave- 
ney owned,  with  a  sigh,  that  she  and  Miss  Althea  were  right. 

278 


A  Devout  Lover 

Waveney  took  herself  to  task  severely  for  her  reluctance  at 
leaving  the  Red  House.  Was  she  guilty  of  loving  the  flesh- 
pots  of  Egypt?  Was  her  home  to  be  less  to  her  because 
Mollie  would  not  be  there?  Waveney  cried  "Shame!"  to 
herself  because  the  thought  of  Ann's  clumsiness  fretted  her ; 
while  the  meagre  housekeeping,  and  all  the  pretty  economies 
that  had  been  Mollie' s  share,  and  were  now  to  be  shifted  to 
her  shoulders,  filled  her  with  a  sore  distaste  and  loathing.  She 
had  grown  to  love  the  Red  House,  and  every  room  in  it.  The 
luxury,  the  comfort,  the  perfection  of  the  trained  service,  the 
homelike  atmosphere,  the  cultured  society  of  the  two  sisters 
and  their  wide  work  and  sympathies,  all  appealed  strongly  to 
Waveney' s  nature.  Her  life  in  the  Red  House  had  been  a 
liberal  education.     How  much  she  had  learnt  there !     And 

then  the  Porch  House  Thursdays But  at  this  point  in  her 

reflections  Waveney  checked  herself  abruptly.  Too  well  she 
knew  where  the  sting  lay,  and  why  the  pain  of  leaving  Erping- 
ham  would  be  so  sharp  and  continuous ;  only  there  could  she 
enjoy  the  society  of  Mr.  Chaytor,  and  she  knew  well  that  at 
Cleveland  Terrace  her  Thursdays  would  be  blank  and  sad. 

"Wave,  dear,"  exclaimed  Mollie,  on  that  first  evening,  as 
they  were  together  in  their  comfortable  sitting-room  looking 
out  on  the  Parade  and  the  sea,  while  Nurse  Helena  was  busy 
in  the  room  above  unpacking  their  boxes,  "  isn't  this  one  of 
our  dreams  come  true,  that  you  and  I  should  be  at  the  seaside 
together?" 

"It  was  your  dream,  not  mine,  Mollie,"  returned  Waveney, 
in  a  teasing  voice.  "  You  were  the  dreamer  in  the  old  days. 
I  was  far  more  prosaic  and  matter-of-fact."  And  then  she 
settled  herself  more  comfortably  against  Mollie' s  couch. 
"  There  was  your  Kitlands  dream,  you  know,  and  a  hundred 
others." 

"Oh,  never  mind  Kitlands,"  replied  Mollie,  with  a  touch 
of  impatience  in  her  voice.  "That  was  a  dear  dream,  but 
of  course  it  was  too  big  and  grand  ever  to  come  true.  But 
how  often  we  used  to  make  believe  that  we  were  going  to  the 
seaside  !  Don't  you  remember,  Wave,  the  little  bow-window 
parlour  over  the  tinman's  in  High  Street  that  we  were  to 
take,  and  the  sea-breezes  that  would  meet  us  as  we  turned  the 
corner,  and  how  we  were  always  to  have  shrimps  for  tea  ?' ' 
And  then  Mollie  laughed  with  glee.  "  But  this  is  much 
better,  isn't  it,  dear?"  and  she  looked  at  the  big,  cosy  room 
that  Ingram  had  selected  for  their  use. 

279 


Mollie's  Prince 

They  were  like  a  pair  of  happy  children  that  evening. 
Mollie  had  insisted  that  she  and  Waveney  should  share  the 
big  front  bedroom ;  and  she  was  so  wide-awake  and  excited 
that  she  would  have  talked  half  the  night,  only  Waveney 
sternly  refused  to  be  cajoled. 

"  Nurse  Helena  has  begged  us  not  to  talk,"  she  said,  "  and 
I  feel  I  am  on  my  honour.  No,  Mollie,  I  will  not  be  coaxed. 
I  am  a  woman  of  my  word,  and  I  gave  Nurse  Helena  my 
promise.  There  shall  be  no  pale  cheeks  for  the  Black  Prince 
to  see  on  Saturday.  Go  to  sleep  like  a  good  child."  And 
then  Mollie  consented  to  be  silent. 

It  was  a  happy  month,  and  nothing  occurred  to  mar  their 
enjoyment.  They  spent  delightful  mornings  on  the  b«ach  or 
parade ;  in  the  afternoon,  while  Mollie  had  her  siesta,  Wave- 
ney and  Nurse  Helena  wrote  their  letters,  or  enjoyed  the 
books  with  which  Ingram  had  provided  them ;  after  tea,  when 
the  evenings  were  fine  and  warm,  they  drove  into  the  country, 
coming  back  to  an  early  supper. 

Moritz  always  came  down  from  Saturday  to  Monday,  and 
put  up  at  the  hotel  close  by.  Once  he  brought  Mr.  Ward 
with  him,  and  another  time  it  was  Noel ;  and  then,  indeed, 
Mollie's  happiness  was  complete. 

Only  one  thing  troubled  Mollie  as  the  days  went  on.  In 
spite  of  her  high  spirits,  Waveney  was  not  quite  herself.  She 
had  silent  fits  at  times.  She  was  absent  and  distraite,  and  did 
not  always  hear  what  Mollie  said  to  her ;  and  more  than  once 
as  they  sat  in  the  moonlight,  looking  at  the  silvery  path  across 
the  dark  sea,  Mollie  had  heard  a  suppressed  sigh. 

"There  is  something  on  her  mind,  something  she  is  keep- 
ing to  herself,"  thought  Mollie,  anxiously,  "and  we  have 
never,  never  had  a  secret  from  each  other.  It  is  not  like  my 
own  Wave  to  hide  anything  from  me,  and  I  shall  tell  her  so." 
And,  indeed,  Mollie  was  so  tearful  and  pleading,  so  pertina- 
cious in  her  questions,  and  so  quick  and  clever  in  her  sur- 
mises, that  before  they  returned  to  the  Red  House  Waveney's 
poor  little  secret — her  unfinished  story — was  in  Mollie's  keep- 
ing. Mollie  was  full  of  tender  sympathy.  She  cried  bitterly 
over  Waveney's  description  of  that  meeting  by  the  river. 
She  quaked  and  shivered, — was  hot  and  cold  by  turns  with 
excitement. 

"Of  course  he  cares  for  you,  darling,"  she  said,  putting 
her  arms  round  her  sister's  neck.     "How  can  he  help  it? 
Oh,  it  will  all  come  right,"  she  continued,  cheerfully.     "  One 
280 


Mollie's  Prince 

day  you  will  be  as  happy  as  we  are.  What  a  pity  he  is  so 
poor  and  proud  !  Men  are  so  blind.  It  would  be  so  much 
nicer  to  be  engaged,  and  wait — oh,  any  number  of  years," 
went  on  Mollie,  with  womanly  philosophy. 

But  to  this  Waveney  made  no  answer.  Perhaps  in  her 
secret  heart  she  was  glad  Mollie  knew.  Never  in  their  lives 
had  they  had  a  thought  unshared  by  the  other. 

But  when  Mollie  was  alone  she  made  a  naughty  little 
mouche. 

"  How  can  she  care  for  that  plain,  old-looking  man?"  she 
said  to  herself.  "Why,  I  should  be  frightened  to  speak  to 
him,  he  looks  so  grave.  Waveney  is  a  hundred  times  too 
good  for  him.  *  A  noticeable  man,  with  large  grey  eyes,'  is 
not  to  my  taste,"  went  on  Mollie,  with  a  blissful  remembrance 
of  her  own  dear  Monsieur  Blackie. 


CHAPTER    XXXVIII. 

mollie's  prince. 

"  And,  while  now  she  wonders  blindly, 
Nor  the  meaning  can  divine, 
Proudly  turns  he  round  and  kindly : 
'  All  of  this  is  thine  and  mine.'  " 

The  Lord  of  Burleigh. 

"It  is  all  arranged  about  the  picnic,"  exclaimed  Mollie, 
in  a  joyous  voice,  as  she  entered  their  bedroom,  where  Wave- 
ney was  busy  packing  her  own  and  Mollie's  things.  It  was 
the  last  day  before  their  return  to  town.  Moritz  had  come 
down  unexpectedly  the  previous  evening,  and  had  paid  his 
usual  morning  visit ;  he  had  gone  back  to  the  hotel  to  write 
his  letters,  and  had  promised  to  join  them  on  the  Parade 
later  on. 

"What  picnic?"  observed  Waveney,  absently.  She  was 
at  that  moment  regarding  with  great  satisfaction  the  new 
spring  dresses  that  had  just  come  from  the  dressmaker's. 
They  had  been  bought  with  her  own  money ;  and  the  pretty 
hats,  and  smart  boots  and  gloves,  had  all  been  provided  from 
her  quarter's  salary,  and,  although  Mollie  had  at  first  refused 


Mollie's  Prince 

to  allow  Waveney  to  spend  her  money  on  her,  she  was  soon 
persuaded  that  any  shabbiness  on  the  part  of  his  young 
fiancee  would  be  distressing  to  Mr.  Ingram's  feelings. 
"You  know  he  likes  people  to  be  nicely  dressed,"  Waveney 
had  remarked,  rather  severely,  "so  please  don't  be  foolish, 
Mollie.  Surely" — in  a  pathetic  voice — "  you  won't  begrudge 
me  this  last  chance  of  buying  clothes  for  my  sweetheart?" 
And  what  could  Mollie  do  after  that,  except  hug  her  silently, 
in  token  of  yielding?" 

"What  picnic?"  returned  Mollie,  indignantly.  "Why, 
our  long-promised  visit  to  Brentwood  Hall,  of  course,  to 
see  dear  old  King  Canute  in  the  picture.  Moritz  says  he 
has  arranged  everything  with  Miss  Althea.  I  am  to  have 
a  day's  rest  at  the  Red  House,  and  on  Thursday  we  are  to  go." 

"  But  Miss  Althea  is  always  engaged  on  Thursday,"  objected 
Waveney.     "  She  has  her  Porch  House  evening." 

"  Oh  yes,  I  know,"  retorted  Mollie — she  was  fairly  glowing 
with  excitement  and  happiness — "but  Miss  Althea  says  she 
doesn't  mind  being  absent  for  once.  We  are  to  drive  down 
to  Waterloo,  and  Moritz  will  meet  us  there,  and  it  is  only  an 
hour's  journey  by  train.  Moritz  says  that  his  sister  has  prom- 
ised to  join  us  at  luncheon.  I  was  just  a  wee  bit  frightened 
when  he  said  that ;  but  he  assured  me  that  she  would  not  be 
the  least  formidable.  She  is  very  tall,  Waveney,  and  very 
plain — at  least,  strangers  think  her  so ;  and  she  always  calls 
herself  ugly,  but  he  was  sure  I  should  soon  love  her.  '  Gwen 
is  the  dearest  girl  in  the  world,'  he  went  on,  'and  Jack  just 
worships  her.  Jack  Compton  is  her  husband,  you  know.' 
Oh  Wave,  I  do  hope  she  will  like  me." 

"Of  course  she  will  like  you,"  returned  Waveney,  with 
comfortable  decision.  "I  would  not  give  a  fig  for  Mrs. 
Gwen  if  she  had  the  bad  taste  not  to  admire  my  Mollie. 
Well,  I  hope  it  will  be  a  fine  day  for  Moritz's  picnic,  and 
then  we  can  wear  our  new  dresses.  But,  Mollie  dear,  are 
we  really  to  have  luncheon  at  Brentwood  Hall  ?  I  thought 
Moritz  said  his  friend  was  away,  and  that  only  servants  were 
there?" 

"Yes,  but  he  says  he  and  Lord  Ralston  are  such  close 
friends  that  he  has  carte  blanche  to  do  as  he  likes.  He  is 
Viscount  Ralston,  and  he  is  very  rich.  Moritz  says  he  has 
over  thirty  thousand  a  year.  He  seems  to  have  very  grand 
friends,"  went  on  Molly,  rather  thoughtfully.  "  I  am  afraid 
they  will  look  down  on  me,  a  poor  little  lame  Cinderella." 

282 


Mollie's  Prince 

But  Waveney  scouted  this  idea  with  energy.  Mollie  was 
well  born  and  well  educated;  no  one  could  look  down  on 
her.  Moritz  would  not  have  to  blush  for  her,  even  if  his 
friends  were  dukes  as  well  as  viscounts.  Mollie  must  hold 
her  own,  and  not  be  too  humble  on  the  subject  of  her  own 
merits.  It  was  quite  evident  that  Moritz  thought  her  the 
dearest  and  sweetest  thing  in  the  world,  and  she  ought  to  be 
satisfied  with  that.  And  then  Mollie  cheered  up  and  forgot 
her  fears,  and  they  packed  happily  until  it  was  time  to  go  out. 

When  the  eventful  day  arrived,  Mollie  woke  Waveney  at  an 
unconscionably  early  hour,  to  inform  her  that  the  weather  was 
simply  perfect,  and  that  they  might  wear  their  new  dresses 
without  fear  of  a  shower. 

It  was  one  of  those  typical  May  days,  when  Nature  puts  on 
her  daintiest  and  fairest  apparel,  when  the  fresh  young  green 
of  the  foliage  seems  to  feast  and  rest  the  eyes. 

The  air  was  sweet  with  lilac  and  may  ;  and  the  tender  blue 
of  the  sky  was  unstained  by  a  single  cloud.  When  Mollie 
came  downstairs,  in  her  pretty  grey  dress,  with  a  little  spray 
of  pink  may  at  her  throat,  Althea  thought  that  she  matched 
the  day  itself. 

"  Mollie  has  quite  recovered  her  looks,"  she  said  to  Doreen ; 
"the  dear  child  is  a  great  beauty,  and  Gwen  will  be  charmed 
with  her."  And,  indeed,  as  they  drove  through  there  were 
many  admiring  glances  cast  at  the  pretty,  blushing  face. 

Moritz  was  at  the  station  to  meet  them.  He  had  a  white 
flower  in  his  buttonhole,  and  looked  jubilant  and  excited. 
Perhaps  he  was  a  trifle  fussy  in  his  attentions.  Mollie  must 
take  his  arm,  he  said ;  the  station  was  so  crowded,  and  there 
were  a  lot  of  rough  people  about. 

Poor  Mollie  felt  a  little  nervous  and  conscious.  It  was  dif- 
ficult to  adapt  her  slow,  lurching  walk  to  Monsieur  Blackie's 
quick,  springy  tread.  Moritz  might  be  as  tender  over  her  in- 
firmity as  a  mother  over  some  cripple  child ;  but  Mollie,  who 
was  only  human,  could  have  wept  over  her  own  awkwardness. 
Perhaps  her  limping  gait  had  never  given  her  more  acute  pain 
than  now,  when  Ingram  was  trying  so  carefully  and  labori- 
ously to  adapt  his  step  to  hers. 

Mollie's  cheeks  were  burning  by  the  time  they  reached  their 
compartment ;  but  when  Moritz  sat  down  beside  her  with  a 
fond  look  and  word,  she  forgot  her  uneasiness,  and  was  her 
own  happy  self  again. 

The  journey  was  a  short  one.     When  they  reached  Brent- 

283 


Mollie's  Prince 

wood,  Moritz  hurried  his  party  through  the  little  country- 
station  before  the  stationmaster  had  an  opportunity  of  accost- 
ing him. 

An  open  barouche  with  a  fine  pair  of  bays  was  awaiting 
them.  When  Waveney  admired  them,  Moritz  remarked 
rather  complacently  that  Ralston  was  a  good  judge  of  horse- 
flesh. And  then  he  asked  Mollie  how  she  would  like  to  drive 
herself  in  a  low  pony-carriage  with  a  pair  of  cream-coloured 
ponies.  And  Mollie,  thinking  that  he  was  joking,  clapped 
her  hands  gleefully. 

"  How  delicious  that  would  be  !"  she  returned.  "  But  it  is 
very  naughty  of  you  to  tantalise  me  in  this  fashion.  Oh,  what 
a  dear  old  village!"  she  went  on.  "And,  Moritz,  the  people 
seem  to  know  you. ' '  For  Moritz  was  lifting  his  hat  every 
instant  in  response  to  some  greeting. 

"Oh,  they  are  always  civil  to  people  who  are  staying  at 
the  Hall,"  returned  Ingram,  evasively.  But  at  that  moment 
he  met  Althea's  amused  glance.  ' '  Very  well  done,  my  lord, ' ' 
she  said,  under  her  breath;  and  then  she  shook  her  head  at 
him. 

They  were  just  turning  in  at  some  open  gates,  and  before 
them  was  a  shady  avenue.  At  the  end,  some  more  gates,  of 
finely  wrought  Flemish  work,  admitted  them  to  the  sunny 
gardens  and  terrace;  while  before  them  stood  the  grand  old 
Hall,  with  its  grey  walls  and  quaint  gables  and  oriel  windows 
embowered  in  ivy  and  creepers. 

"It  is  a  lovely  old  place,"  murmured  Althea ;  but  Mollie 
and  Waveney  were  speechless  with  admiration.  To  their  eyes 
it  looked  like  an  enchanted  palace,  surrounded  by  shimmering 
green  lawns.  The  great  door  was  wide  open,  as  though  to 
receive  them ;  but  there  was  no  sign  of  human  life.  When 
the  carriage  had  driven  away,  Moritz  took  Mollie's  hand  and 
led  her  across  the  wide  hall,  with  its  pillars,  and  grand  oak 
carvings,  its  mighty  fireplace,  and  walls  covered  with  curious 
weapons,  with  here  and  there  a  stag's  antlers,  or  the  head  of  a 
grinning  leopard. 

They  only  paused  for  a  moment  to  admire  the  great  stone 
staircase,  that  was  broad  enough  for  a  dozen  men  to  walk 
abreast.  One  of  the  Ralstons,  in  a  mad  frolic,  had  once 
ridden  his  gallant  grey  up  to  the  very  top  of  the  staircase. 

"I  am  going  to  show  you  everything,"  observed  Ingram, 
as  they  walked  down  the  softly  carpeted  corridor.  "  We  call 
this  the  Zoo,"  he  continued,  "  for  if  you  look  at  the  pictures, 

284 


Mollie's  Prince 

Mollie,  you  will  see  they  are  mostly  of  animals.  There  are 
some  good  proof  engravings  of  Landseer,  and  the  sculpture 
is  rather  fine ;  but  the  most  beautiful  groups  are  in  the  picture- 
gallery,  upstairs.  The  fifth  Viscount  Ralston  was  a  connoisseur 
of  art,  and  spent  a  good  deal  of  his  income  in  pictures  and 
sculpture.  It  was  he  who  brought  the  Flemish  gates  from 
Belgium ;  they  are  considered  very  fine,  and  are  always 
pointed  out  to  visitors." 

Mollie  began  to  feel  a  little  breathless;  she  wanted  to  linger 
in  every  room,  but  Moritz,  who  had  his  work  cut  out  for  him, 
hurried  her  on. 

They  went  through  the  big  dining-room,  which  was  large 
enough  for  a  banqueting-hall,  and  into  a  smaller  one,  where 
the  table  was  already  laid  for  luncheon;  and  then  into  the 
library  and  morning-room.  When  Mollie  asked,  with  naive 
curiosity,  if  there  were  no  drawing-room,  Moritz  laughed  and 
told  her  to  wait. 

"These  are  Ralston's  private  quarters,"  he  said,  ushering 
her  into  a  cosy  sitting-room,  fitted  up  for  a  gentleman's  use. 
But  when  Mollie  would  have  investigated,  with  girlish  curi- 
osity, the  mass  of  papers  on  the  writing  table,  he  quietly  took 
her  arm,  and  marched  her  into  the  billiard-room  adjoining. 
"Ralston  would  not  like  us  to  look  at  his  papers,"  he  said, 
gravely.  "He  is  an  untidy  fellow,  and  his  writing-table  is 
always  in  confusion." 

"Is  Lord  Ralston  married?"  asked  Mollie,  presently,  as 
they  went  slowly  up  the  stone  staircase.  Althea,  who  over- 
heard her,  was  obliged  to  pause ;  she  was  shaking  with  sup- 
pressed mirth;  but  Waveney  was  far  too  busily  engaged  in 
admiring  a  painted  window  to  notice  her  merriment.  Ingram 
was  quite  equal  to  the  occasion. 

"  He  is  not  married  yet,  dear,"  he  returned,  quickly,  "but 
he  does  not  expect  to  be  a  bachelor  much  longer.  Shall  I  show 
you  the  rooms  that  he  has  chosen  for  his  future  wife,  or  shall 
we  go  to  the  picture-gallery?"  But  Mollie's  excitement  was 
too  great  for  fatigue,  and  she  at  once  decided  to  see  Lady 
Ralston's  rooms. 

To  Mollie's  inexperienced  eyes  they  were  grand  enough  for 
the  Queen.  She  was  almost  indignant  when  Moritz  explained 
that  the  boudoir  and  dressing-room  were  to  be  refurnished.  It 
was  shameful  extravagance,  she  repeated,  more  than  once; 
what  did  it  matter  if  the  furniture  was  a  little  old  fashioned? 
Mollie  was  quite  eloquent  on  the  subject,  as  she  stood  in  the 

2S5 


Mollie's  Prince 

wide  bay  window  of  the  boudoir.  It  was  a  charming  window. 
Mollie  looked  straight  down  the  avenue  to  the  great  bronze 
gates.  The  rooks  were  cawing  in  the  elms;  some  tame  pheas- 
ants were  pluming  themselves  on  the  lawn  below;  and  a 
wicked-looking  jackdaw  was  strutting  up  and  down  the  ter- 
race.    The  beds  were  full  of  spring  flowers. 

"Oh,  how  perfect  it  all  is!"  sighed  Mollie;  and  then  she 
said,  in  quite  a  decided  tone,  "I  do  think  it  will  be  wicked 
for  Lord  Ralston  to  refurnish  this  room." 

"There,  Gwen,  do  you  hear  that?"  exclaimed  Moritz. 
And  Mollie  turned  hastily  round.  A  tall  young  lady  was 
standing  in  the  doorway  watching  her.  She  was  quite  young, 
but  Mollie  thought  she  had  never  seen  any  one  so  tall ;  and 
certainly  it  was  her  opinion,  that  first  moment,  that  Mrs.  John 
Compton  was  the  plainest  person  she  had  ever  seen. 

Mollie,  who  was  a  great  admirer  of  beauty,  felt  a  sort  of 
shock  at  the  sight  of  Gwen's  frank  ugliness ;  her  small  green- 
ish-blue eyes  crinkling  up  with  amusement,  the  bluntness  of 
her  features,  and  her  wide  mouth,  gave  Mollie  a  pang.  She 
had  yet  to  find  out  her  redeeming  points, — her  beautiful  figure, 
the  rich  brown  hair,  and  pleasantly  modulated  voice. 

"  Moritz,  is  this  my  dear  new  sister?"  asked  Gwen,  with  a 
smile  so  bright  and  warm  that  it  quite  transfigured  her  plain 
face.  And  then,  with  frank  kindness,  she  put  her  arms  round 
Mollie  and  kissed  her.  "  Mollie,  you  must  be  very  good  to 
me,"  she  went  on.  And  now  there  were  tears  in  her  eyes. 
"  Moritz  is  my  only  brother,  and  we  have  been  everything  to 
each  other.  Have  we  not,  old  boy?"  And  Gwen  pinched 
his  ear  playfully,  and  then  greeted  Waveney  and  her  cousin 
Althea  in  the  warmest  fashion. 

There  was  a  little  hubbub  of  talking  and  laughter,  and  then 
Moritz  drew  Mollie's  arm  through  his  and  led  her  away. 

Probably  Gwen  had  had  her  orders,  for,  instead  of  follow- 
ing them,  she  made  room  for  Waveney  on  the  wide  window- 
seat. 

"There  is  something  Moritz  wishes  me  to  tell  you,"  she 
said,  quietly,  "and  that  he  is  telling  your  sister  now." 

However  important  Moritz's  communication  might  be,  it 
had  to  be  deferred  until  Mollie  had  exhausted  her  whole 
vocabulary  of  admiring  terms  at  the  sight  of  the  noble  gallery. 

It  was  a  drawing-room  and  ball-room  as  well  as  a  picture- 
gallery.  Three  great  fireplaces,  with  their  cosy  environment 
of  luxurious   lounges  and  easy-chairs,   gave  warmth  to  the 

286 


Mollie's  Prince 

whole  room.  And  on  the  other  side  were  windows  with  deep 
recesses,  every  one  forming  separate  cosy  nooks.  In  one  was 
a  low  tea-table  and  a  circle  of  easy-chairs.  Another  was  fitted 
with  an  inlaid  writing-table  and  cabinet.  A  third  contained 
only  a  low  velvet  divan.  It  was  in  this  last  recess  that  Moritz 
at  last  contrived  to  detain  Molly. 

"  Dear  Mollie,"  he  said,  gently  but  firmly,  "  there  will  be 
plenty  of  time  to  look  at  the  pictures  and  sculpture  after 
luncheon  ;  but  I  want  you  to  listen  to  me  a  moment.  I  have 
to  ask  your  forgiveness  for  a  little  deception."  Moritz's  face 
was  so  grave  that  Mollie  regarded  him  with  astonishment. 

"  My  forgiveness  !     Are  you  joking,  Moritz?" 

"  No,  darling,  I  am  quite  serious.  I  have  brought  you 
here  under  false  pretences.  But  I  will  tell  you  all  about  it 
by-and-by.  Dearest,  this  is  your  future  home.  It  is  here 
that  you  and  I  are  to  spend  our  lives  together.  Moritz  In- 
gram and  Viscount  Ralston  are  one  and  the  same  person." 

Mollie's  face  grew  white.  The  little  hand  he  held  trembled 
with  emotion. 

"Oh,  no,  not  really?"  she  gasped. 

"Yes,  really,  my  sweet  one.  But  I  cannot  have  you  look 
so  pale  and  frightened."  Then,  as  Mollie  glanced  shyly  at 
him,  he  caught  her  suddenly  to  his  breast.  "  My  little  bless- 
ing," he  whispered.  "You  loved  your  old  friend,  Monsieur 
Blackie ;  but  you  will  not  tell  me  now,  I  hope,  that  Ralston 
is  to  be  less  dear  to  you." 

"  No,  no  !"  stammered  Mollie ;  "  but  I  cannot  understand. 
Oh,  Moritz,  why  did  you  do  it?" 

"I  will  tell  you,  dear,"  he  returned,  quietly.  "  You  know, 
at  one  time,  Gwen  and  I  were  very  poor.  We  lived  in  a 
pokey  little  house  that  we  called  'The  Tin  Shanty.'  You 
shall  see  it  some  day,  and  I  think  you  will  own  that  Ten, 
Cleveland  Terrace,  is  a  mansion  compared  with  it.  We  were 
almost  at  the  end  of  our  tether  when  the  death  of  a  cousin 
made  me  Viscount  Ralston  and  master  of  Brentwood  Hall  and 
thirty  thousand  a  year." 

"  Oh,  Moritz  !"  and  Mollie  shivered  and  hid  her  face. 

"I  was  a  lucky  fellow,  was  I  not,  dear?  and  I  was  truly 
thankful  for  my  good  things.  I  was  always  very  sociable,  and 
fond  of  the  society  of  my  fellow-creatures,  and  when  Gwen 
married  I  led  rather  a  gay  life.  But  after  a  time  I  got  dis- 
gusted. Mothers  with  marriageable  daughters  made  a  dead 
set  at  me.     Before  the  season  was  over  I  could  have  had  my 

287 


Mollie's  Prince 

pick  of  half  a  dozen  beauties.  Viscount  Ralston,  with  his 
thirty  thousand  a  year,  was  considered  a  desirable  parti. 
Mollie,  dear,  it  fairly  sickened  me.  You  know  I  was  an 
Idealist,  and  I  never  could  make  up  my  mind  to  move  in  the 
ordinary  groove,  like  other  people,  and  I  registered  a  mental 
vow  that,  unless  I  was  loved  for  myself,  I  would  never  marry. 
When  I  first  met  my  little  Samaritan  I  had  no  wish  to  disclose 
my  title  j  but  it  was  a  mere  freak  at  first  to  remain  incognito, 
until — until  I  saw  you,  my  darling.  Oh,  Mollie,  do  you  re- 
member that  day,  and  how  I  heard  you  singing,  and  discovered 
Cinderella  sitting  on  the  hearth?  Shall  I  tell  you  a  secret, 
dear  ?  When  I  left  the  house  that  day  I  said  to  myself,  *  I 
will  move  heaven  and  earth  to  win  that  girl  for  my  wife.'  " 

"  Oh,  Moritz,  did  you  really  ?" 

"  Yes,  love,  and  then  and  there  I  decided  to  be  Mr.  Ingram. 
I  had  no  difficulty  in  preserving  my  incognito.  I  bound  over 
my  cousins  to  secrecy.  It  was  only  your  illness  that  compli- 
cated matters.  I  found,  then,  that  it  was  necessary  to  take 
your  father  and  Noel  into  confidence ;  but  you  and  Waveney 
were  to  be  kept  in  ignorance.  Gwen  is  telling  her  at  this 
present  moment.  But  now,  Mollie,  I  have  finished  my  con- 
fession, and  I  only  want  to  hear  from  your  lips  that  Monsieur 
Blackie  is  forgiven." 

"There  is  nothing  to  forgive,"  she  faltered.  "I  think  I 
am  glad  that  I  did  not  know.  But  oh,  Moritz,  there  is  one 
thing  that  makes  me  sorry."  And  now  there  was  a  painful 
flush  on  Mollie's  cheek.  "You  know  what  I  mean.  I  wish 
for  your  sake  that  I  was  not  lame. ' ' 

"My  poor  little  darling,"  he  returned,  compassionately. 
"But  I  think  I  love  you  all  the  more  for  your  helplessness. 
Thank  Heaven,  my  wife  will  never  have  occasion  to  tire  her- 
self. The  cream-coloured  ponies  are  in  the  stable,  Mollie, 
and  when  we  are  married  I  mean  to  give  you  riding-lessons." 

And  then,  for  very  joy  and  gratitude,  Mollie  burst  into  a 
flood  of  happy  tears. 

"  Oh,  it  is  too  much,  too  much,"  she  sobbed.  "  I  do  not 
deserve  such  happiness.  Moritz,  you  must  teach  me  every- 
thing. I  want  to  be  worthy  of  this  lovely  home  and  you." 
And  then  shyly,  but  with  exquisite,  grace  she  lifted  the  kind 
hand  to  her  lips. 


288 


Everard  Yields  the  Point 
CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

EVERARD   YIELDS   THE   POINT. 

"  Down  on  your  knees, 
And  thank  Heaven,  fasting,  for  a  good  man's  love." 

As  You  Like  It. 

"  He  does  it  with  a  better  grace,  but  I  do  it  more  natural." 

Twelfth  Night. 

It  is  given  to  few  favored  mortals  to  know  such  hours  or 
moments  of  intense  happiness,  that  their  cup  of  bliss  seems 
well-nigh  overflowing.  But  such  a  moment  had  come  to 
Montz  Ingram  and  Mollie. 

When  Gwendoline  came  to  summon  them  to  luncheon,  two 
such  radiant  faces  beamed  on  her  that  she  smiled  back  at  them 
with  joyous  sympathy. 

"Come  here  and  congratulate  me,  Gwen,"  exclaimed  her 
brother.  "Mollie  has  forgiven  me  for  my  little  ruse;  she 
knows  an  idealist  must  have  plenty  of  scope,  and  that  every- 
thing is  fair  in  love  or  war."  And  as  Mollie  did  not  contra- 
dict this  audacious  statement,  Gwendoline  let  it  pass  without 
rebuke. 

"  Moritz,  she  is  just  perfect,"  she  whispered,  as  Mollie  left 
them  and  went  down  the  gallery,  in  search  of  Waveney. 
'  Oh,  I  know,"  as  they  watched  the  pretty,  girlish  figure  with 
its  awkward,  lurching  gait.  "  It  is  a  pity  the  dear  child  is  so 
lame;  but  she  is  like  a  little  stray  angel  for  loveliness.  There, 
she  has  found  her  sister;  we  must  leave  them  for  a  few  minutes 
together. ' ' 

Mollie  discovered  Waveney  standing  in  one  of  the  window 
recesses,  looking  down  on  the  terrace.  At  the  sound  of  foot- 
steps,  she  turned  round. 

"Well,  Mollie,"  she  said,  trying  to  smile,  but  her  lip  quiv- 
ered. "  So  the  Prince  has  come,  after  all,  and  my  sweetheart 
is  to  be  a  great  lady." 

"Are  you  glad,  Wave?"  asked  Mollie,  with  a  loving  hug 
"  really  and  truly  glad  ?"  b' 

Then  Waveney's  dark  eyes  filled  suddenly  with  tears 

"  Glad  that  my  Mollie  should  have  this  beautiful  home,  and 
19  289 


Mollie's  Prince 

all  these  fine  things?  My  darling,  what  a  question !  Don't 
you  know  that  I  love  you  better  than  myself?  I  could  cry 
with  joy  to  think  that  there  will  be  no  more  dull,  anxious 
days  in  store  for  you,  no  worrying  over  Ann's  stupidity,  and 
no  fretting  because  sixpence  would  not  go  as  far  as  a  shilling." 
Then,  as  Mollie  laughed  and  kissed  her,  "I  wonder  what  the 
Black  Prince  would  have  said  if  he  had  seen  that  poor  little 
housekeeping  book,  drenched  with  tears?" 

'*  Don't,  Wave — please  don't  remind  me  of  my  silliness. 
Oh  dear,  how  unhappy  I  used  to  be  !  And  now" — and  here 
Mollie  gazed  with  delighted  eyes  down  the  splendid  gallery — 
"to  think  that  I  shall  ever  be  mistress  of  this  !  It  is  just  like 
a  wonderful  fairy  story ;  for  none  of  our  castles  in  the  air — 
not  even  Kitlands — came  up  to  this." 

"  Of  course  not,"  returned  Waveney,  energetically;  "only 
Cinderella  could  compare  with  it."  And  then,  in  a  teasing 
voice,  "  Your  ladyship  will  not  need  to  glue  your  face  against 
shop-windows  any  more.  You  will  have  diamonds  and  pearls 
of  your  own." 

"Yes,  and  a  pony-carriage,  with  cream-coloured  ponies!" 
exclaimed  Mollie,  joyously.  "And  Wave,  just  think!  Moritz 
is  going  to  give  me  riding-lessons  !  Oh,  his  kindness  and 
generosity  are  beyond  words.  Darling,  you  must  love  him 
for  his  goodness  to  your  poor  little  Mollie ;  and  Wave,  re- 
member, all  this  will  make  no  difference.  I  think  I  care  for 
it  so  much  because  I  shall  be  able  to  help  you  and  father.' ' 

They  were  interrupted  at  this  moment.  Moritz  carried  off 
Mollie,  and  Gwen  proposed  that  they  should  follow.  "For, 
while  Moritz  has  been  dramatising,"  she  observed,  "you  two 
poor  things  have  been  starving."  And  Waveney  could  not 
deny  that  she  was  excessively  hungry. 

The  old,  grey-haired  butler  was  in  his  place  when  they  en- 
tered the  dining-room.     Moritz  stopped  to  speak  to  him. 

"  Tell  Mrs.  WTharton  that  I  shall  bring  Miss  Ward  to  see 
her  this  afternoon,"  he  said;  and  then  they  took  their  places. 

Both  the  girls  were  a  little  subdued  by  the  unwonted  mag- 
nificence of  their  environment,  but  they  struggled  gallantly 
against  the  feeling. 

As  Mollie  ate  her  chicken,  and  sipped  her  champagne,  she 
wondered  how  soon  she  would  get  used  to  be  waited  upon  by 
two  tall  footmen,  and  how  she  would  feel  when  she  was  first 
addressed  as  "My  lady."  "  I  hope  I  shall  not  laugh,"  she 
observed  to  Waveney  afterwards. 

290 


Everard  Yields  the  Point 

Waveney  was  wondering  why  she  had  never  noticed  that 
Moritz  had  rather  an  aristocratic  look.  Their  old  friend, 
Monsieur  Blackie,  had  always  had  good  manners ;  but  now 
that  he  was  in  his  own  house,  and  at  his  own  table,  she  was 
struck  by  his  well-bred  air  and  perfect  ease. 

"He  looks  like  a  viscount,"  she  said  to  herself,  "and  yet 
he  is  perfectly  his  old  self.  Mollie  was  wiser  than  all  of  us, 
for  she  found  out  that  he  was  worthy  of  her  love. ' '  And  then 
Waveney  fell  into  a  reverie  over  her  strawberries.  Her  thoughts 
had  strayed  to  a  certain  dull,  narrow  house  in  Dereham. 
Thorold  Chay tor's  grave  face  and  intellectual  brow  seemed 
to  rise  before  her.  If  she  had  his  love,  she  would  not  envy 
Mollie  her  rank  and  riches ;  she  would  envy  no  one.  Even 
now  she  had  her  secret  happiness,  for  the  words  she  had 
heard  that  sorrowful  night  were  for  ever  stamped  on  her 
memory.  "Trouble?  when  there  is  nothing  on  earth  that  I 
would  not  do  for  you,  my  darling.!"  How,  then,  could  she 
doubt  that  she  was  beloved  ? 

When  luncheon  was  over,  Moritz  took  Mollie  to  the  house- 
keeper's room  and  introduced  her  to  Mrs.  Wharton.  Gwen 
accompanied  them ;  and  then  they  went  back  to  the  picture- 
gallery,  and  Mollie  and  Waveney  feasted  their  eyes  on  the 
pictures  and  sculpture.  It  was  pretty  to  see  the  girls  when 
they  recognised  poor  old  "King  Canute."  Mollie  actually 
kissed  the  canvas.  "  You  dear  old  thing  !"  she  said,  apostro- 
phising it.  Wretched  daub  as  it  was,  crude  in  colouring  and 
defective  in  execution,  Moritz  proudly  termed  it  the  gem  of 
the  gallery. 

"It  helped  me  to  win  my  Mollie,"  he  said  to  Gwen,  who 
was  regarding  it  dubiously.  "  I  painted  many  a  worse  picture 
when  we  were  at  the  Tin  Shanty,  eh,  Gwen  ?' '  And  her  assent 
to  this  was  so  emphatic  that  Moritz  felt  decidedly  snubbed ; 
but  he  rose  to  the  occasion  nobly. 

"  Mr.  Ward  has  not  quite  worked  out  his  subject,"  he  went 
on;  "but  his  idea  is  good,  and  I  shall  always  venerate  it  as 
the  failure  of  a  brave  man.  'A  gallery  of  failures.'  Would 
that  not  be  a  happy  thought,  Althea  ?  Suppose  you  and  I 
start  a  hospital,  refuge,  or  whatever  you  like  to  call  it,  for  dis- 
eased works  of  art  ?  We  would  buy  them  cheaply,  at  half-price, 
and  the  poor  things  should  live  out  their  time."  And  here 
Moritz  looked  round  the  company  for  approval. 

"  How  about  the  survival  of  the  fittest?"  asked  his  sister, 
scornfully. 

291 


Mollie's  Prince 

"Oh,  that  will  be  all  right,"  he  returned,  easily.  "Be- 
sides, we  should  have  no  very  fit  specimens,  in  a  gallery  of 
failures.  They  would  be  in  all  stages  of  disease.  But  just 
think,  my  dear,  what  an  encouragement  it  would  be  to  the 
artists!  'If  my  failure  is  remunerative,'  the  poor  beggars 
would  say  to  themselves,  *  I  must  just  try  again,  and  do  better 
next  time.'  " 

"You  are  very  absurd,  Moritz."  But  Gwen  looked  de- 
cidedly amused.  And  Mollie,  privately,  thought  it  a  clever 
idea. 

When  they  had  finished  inspecting  all  the  treasures  in  the 
gallery,  Gwen  summoned  them  to  tea.  The  tea-table  was  in 
the  prettiest  of  the  alcoves,  which  was  large  enough  to  hold 
seven  or  eight  people. 

After  this  they  went  down  to  the  gardens,  and  through  a 
small  fir-wood,  to  the  Silent  Pool.  Here  the  carriage  was  to 
meet  them. 

Mollie  and  Waveney  were  enchanted  with  the  Silent  Pool. 
The  still,  green  pool,  surrounded  by  the  dark  firs,  the  beauty, 
the  stillness,  and  the  solemnity  of  the  spot,  inspired  them  with 
awe.  To  Althea  it  was  a  favourite  and  well-remembered  place. 
She  had  visited  it  more  than  once,  in  the  old  viscount's  time. 
For  it  had  never  been  closed  to  the  public.  That  still  pool, 
with  its  dark,  hidden  depths,  reminded  her  of  her  own  life, 
with  its  calm  surface,  and  troubled  under-current.  "  There 
are  so  many  lives  like  that,"  she  thought,  as  she  looked  back 
at  the  solemn  scene.  And  then  she  followed  the  others,  down 
the  winding  path,  to  the  little  inn,  which  was  known  as  the 
Brentwood  Arms.  Here  Gwendoline  bade  them  an  affec- 
tionate farewell.     And  then  they  drove  off  to  the  station. 

"  It  has  been  the  most  wonderful  day  that  I  have  ever  spent 
in  my  life  !"  exclaimed  Molly,  a  little  breathlessly. 

"It  has  been  a  happy  day  to  me,"  returned  Moritz,  in  a 
low  tone.  "There  can  only  be  one  day  more  perfect,  and 
that  will  be  our  wedding  day,  Mollie." 

When  they  reached  Waterloo,  Althea  refused  to  allow 
Moritz  to  accompany  them  to  the  Red  House.  Mollie  was 
tired  and  over-excited,  and  must  rest.  He  was  to  come  to 
them  the  following  evening,  to  meet  Mr.  Ward  and  Thorold. 
There  was  to  be  a  sort  of  friendly  re-union.  It  was  Noel's 
birthday,  too.  But  there  must  be  no  more  excitement  for  the 
present.  And  Althea  was  so  firm  and  inexorable  that  Moritz 
had  to  yield. 

292 


Everard  Yields  the  Point 

"I  think  we  are  all  tired,"  observed  Waveney.  "But  it 
has  been  a  lovely  day."  And  then,  in  spite  of  Althea' s  ad- 
vice to  rest  and  be  quiet,  she  and  Mollie  discussed  their 
delightful  picnic.  Only,  as  they  drove  down  High  Street, 
and  passed  a  certain  house,  Waveney  became  a  little  silent. 
The  blinds  were  up,  and  the  lamp  was  lighted.  Waveney  dis- 
tinctly saw  a  tall  figure  standing  by  the  window.  Althea  evi- 
dently recognized  it,  too.  "Thorold  has  come  back  early 
from  the  Porch  House,"  she  said.  And  then  she  spoke  on 
quite  a  different  subject  to  Mollie. 

The  next  few  weeks  were  busy  ones  at  the  Red  House. 
There  were  long  mornings  of  shopping,  and  endless  inter- 
views with  dressmakers  and  milliners ;  and  the  all-important 
business  of  the  trousseau  occupied  the  three  ladies  from  morn- 
ing to  night. 

Mollie  took  a  child-like  pleasure  in  it  all.  Prosperity  did 
not  spoil  her.  She  was  still  the  same  simple,  light-hearted 
Mollie  of  old,  and  the  one  drawback  to  her  perfect  happiness 
was  the  thought  that  Waveney  could  not  have  it  too.  "I 
wish  I  could  give  you  half  my  frousseau"  she  said,  quite 
piteously.     But  Waveney  only  laughed  at  her. 

"Don't  be  a  simpleton,  Mollie,"  she  returned.  "Why, 
you  foolish  child,  there  are  actually  tears  in  your  eyes !  Don't 
you  know  that  all  these  fine  things — these  satins  and  silks  and 
laces — would  be  most  incongruous  in  my  position?  What 
could  I  do  with  them  at  Cleveland  Terrace  ?' ' 

"But  you  will  be  at  Brentwood  half  your  time,"  retorted 
Mollie.  "  Moritz  says  he  could  not  have  the  heart  to  separate 
us ;  and  he  is  so  fond  of  you,  Wave. ' ' 

"Yes,  dear;  but  all  the  same,  I  must  not  expect  to  be  as 
smart  as  your  ladyship. ' '  And  then  Mollie  made  a  face  at 
her. 

Moritz  had  not  forgotten  his  little  Samaritan,  and  Althea 
had  her  orders.  Besides  the  beautiful  bridesmaid's  dress,  a 
tailor-made  tweed,  and  two  pretty  evening  frocks  were  pro- 
vided for  Waveney ;  and  then,  indeed,  Mollie  was  content. 

There  was  so  much  to  do  that  it  was  not  until  the  beginning 
of  July  that  Waveney  and  Mollie  went  back  to  Cleveland 
Terrace  to  spend  the  last  few  weeks  with  their  father  and 
Noel.  The  wedding  was  to  be  from  the  Red  House,  and  it 
was  already  arranged  that  they  were  to  return  a  week  before 
the  marriage. 

All  this  time  Moritz  had  haunted  his  cousin's  house  morn- 

293 


Mollie's  Prince 

ing,  noon,  and  night,  and  had  refused  to  consider  himself  in 
the  way.  Every  few  days  Everard  dined  there,  and  now  and 
then  Thorold  was  invited  to  meet  him. 

Everard  was  now  quite  at  home  at  the  Red  House.  Almost 
insensibly  he  had  relapsed  into  the  old  intimacy  with  Doreen 
and  Althea.  He  forgot  he  was  only  a  poor  drudge  of  a  draw- 
ing-master. He  forgot  his  shabby  dress-coat,  and  pitiful  little 
economies.  Brighter  days  were  in  store  for  him ;  his  little 
Mollie  was  to  be  the  wife  of  a  nobleman,  and  Waveney  was 
coming  back  to  him  to  be  the  light  of  his  home ;  and  there 
was  little  doubt  in  his  mind  that  Noel  would  distinguish  him- 
self and  pass  his  examination. 

"I  feel  better  days  are  coming,"  he  said  once  to  Althea. 
She  was  his  old  friend  and  confidant ;  he  would  often  speak  to 
her  of  his  children's  future,  and  her  gentle  sympathy  never 
failed  him. 

It  was  Althea' s  advice  that  he  sought,  when  Moritz  told  his 
future  father-in-law  that  he  intended  to  allow  him  an  income. 
Everard,  who  was  as  proud  as  he  was  poor,  was  sorely  per- 
turbed in  his  mind  when  he  heard  this. 

"  What  am  I  to  do?"  he  said,  in  a  vexed  voice,  when  he 
found  himself  alone  with  Althea  that  evening.  They  were  all 
in  the  garden  together — Ingram,  and  Thorold  Chaytor,  and 
Joanna,  as  well  as  Moritz.  They  had  broken  up  in  little 
groups,  and  Everard  and  Althea  had  strolled  down  a  side  path 
behind  the  Porch  House. 

"I  wish  you  would  give  me  your  advice,"  he  went  on, 
"  for  I  am  in  a  terrible  fix.  Ralston  is  the  most  generous 
fellow  I  ever  met ;  he  wants  me  to  give  up  my  teaching  and 
accept  an  income  from  him.  The  fact  is,"  continued  Ever- 
ard, rather  bitterly,  "he  is  unwilling  that  his  father-in-law 
should  be  only  a  poor  devil  of  a  drawing-master.  It  is  just 
his  pride,  confound  him  !  But,  as  I  tell  him,  I  have  my  pride, 
too.  I  am  afraid  I  hurt  his  feelings,  though  he  was  too  kind 
to  tell  me  so." 

"  Moritz  is  very  sensitive,"  returned  Althea ;  "in  spite  of 
eccentricities,  he  is  very  soft-hearted  ;  his  generosity  amounts 
to  a  vice  j  he  is  never  happy  unless  he  is  giving." 

"Oh,  that  is  all  very  well,"  replied  Everard,  in  rather  a 
huffy  voice.  "  But  if  I  do  not  choose  to  be  indebted  to  my 
son-in-law,  surely  my  feelings  must  be  considered  as  well  as 
his." 

"  True,  my  dear  friend."     But  Althea  smiled  as  she  spoke. 
294 


Everard  Yields  the  Point 

"  But  it  seems  to  me,  if  I  may  speak  frankly,  that  your  pride 
is  at  fault  here.  Moritz  wishes  to  be  a  son  to  you ;  he  will  be 
your  Mollie's  husband;  he  has  more  than  he  can  spend — 
every  year  he  is  likely  to  grow  richer,  for,  as  you  know,  they 
have  found  coal  on  the  Welsh  property ;  he  and  Mollie  will 
be  rolling  in  money,  and "     Here  she  hesitated. 

"  And  Mollie's  father  will  be  out  at  elbows.  Why  do  you 
not  finish  your  sentence,  Miss  Harford?" 

"  No ;  I  should  not  have  put  it  that  way,"  returned  Althea. 
"But  I  think  it  will  be  rather  hard  on  Moritz,  and  doubly 
hard  on  Mollie,  if  you  refuse  the  gift  that  their  filial  love  offers 
you.  Mollie  knows  how  you  loathe  teaching.  It  is  the  crown 
of  her  happiness  that  her  marriage  will  enable  her  to  help  you 
and  Waveney.  Moritz  intends  to  give  her  a  magnificent  al- 
lowance for  her  own  private  use,  and  directly  they  were  en- 
gaged he  informed  her  that  he  intended  to  settle  an  income 
on  her  father.  Mr.  Ward,  you  cannot  be  proud  with  your 
own  children.  Why  not  accept  your  son-in-law's  kindness? 
I  am  sure  you  will  not  repent  it."  And  then  Everard 
yielded. 

Mollie  and  Waveney  were  overjoyed  when  they  heard  that 
Althea' s  counsel  had  prevailed,  and  Moritz  was  excessively 
pleased;  he  was  even  disposed  to  encroach  a  little  on  his 
privileges,  only  Althea  begged  him  to  be  cautious. 

"  You  and  Moritz  must  bide  your  time,"  she  said,  one  day, 
to  the  little  bride-elect;  "you  have  both  gained  a  victory, 
and  you  must  be  content  with  that  for  the  present.  Your 
father  told  Waveney  the  other  day  that  nothing  would  induce 
him  to  leave  Cleveland  Terrace.  Your  mother  died  there," 
she  continued,  in  a  low  voice,  "and  I  suppose  that  is  why  he 
is  attached  to  the  house." 

"Yes;  but  it  is  such  a  dingy,  dull  little  place,"  returned 
Mollie,  sadly,  "  and  Moritz  meant  to  buy  such  a  pretty  house, 
and  furnish  it  so  beautifully.  But  I  suppose  we  shall  have  to 
wait." 

"Indeed,  you  must.  But  cheer  up,  Mollie;  new  carpets 
and  curtains,  and  light,  tasteful  papers  will  soon  transform 
Number  Ten,  Cleveland  Terrace,  into  a  charming  abode — 
indeed,  I  do  not  believe  you  will  recognise  it." 

"  And  Ann  is  to  be  sent  away  ?  You  are  sure  of  that,  Miss 
Althea?" 

"Yes,  and  two  good  servants  are  to  replace  her.  Waveney 
will  have  no  trouble  with  her  housekeeping.     Now  I  hear 

295 


Mollie's  Prince 

Moritz's  voice,  and  you  know  his  lordship  objects  to  be  kept 
waiting!"  And  at  this  hint  Mollie  blushed  beautifully  and 
ran  away. 


CHAPTER   XL. 

THE   VEILED   PROPHET. 

"We  are  ne'er  like  angels  till  our  passions  die." — Thomas  Dekker. 

"A  heart  to  resolve,  a  head  to  contrive,  and  a  hand  to  execute." 

Edward  Gibbon. 

The  evening  before  Waveney  and  Mollie  returned  to  Cleve- 
land Terrace  there  was  a  family  gathering  at  the  Red  House. 
Everard  Ward  and  his  son  and  Lord  Ralston  dined  there. 

Waveney  had  secretly  hoped  that  Mr.  Chaytor  would  have 
been  invited;  but  Althea,  who  was  not  aware  of  the  girl's 
secret,  had  said,  more  than  once,  that  no  outsiders  were  to 
be  admitted,  and  Waveney  vainly  tried  to  hide  her  depres- 
sion. In  spite  of  homesickness  and  longings  for  the  society 
of  her  twin  sister,  she  had  been  very  happy  at  the  Red  House. 
Her  affection  for  Althea  only  had  deepened  with  time,  and 
the  thought  that  she  was  no  longer  to  minister  to  her  comfort 
filled  her  with  profound  sadness. 

Dereham  and  Erpingham  had  grown  very  dear  to  her,  and 
the  idea  of  separation  from  her  kind  friends  made  her  heart 
heavy. 

"You  will  often  be  with  us,"  Althea  said,  trying  to  cheer 
her.  "Do  you  think  Doreen  and  I  mean  to  lose  sight  of 
you  ?  No,  my  dear,  no.  i  Once  loved  is  always  loved. ' 
That  is  the  Harford  motto,  and  most  certainly  you  are  not 
losing  your  friends." 

"No,  but  it  will  not  be  the  same,"  returned  Waveney, 
sadly.  But  the  real  cause  of  her  depression  was  not  the 
parting  from  her  beloved  Queen  Bess.  If  she  could  only 
say  good-bye  to  her  other  friend !  If  she  could  see  him 
again  and  have  some  look  and  word  to  treasure  up  in  her 
memory  !  On  the  last  Porch  House  Thursday  he  had  hardly 
spoken  to  her.  It  almost  seemed  as  though  he  had  avoided 
her,  and  certainly  there  had  been  no  farewell.     Most  likely 

296 


The  Veiled  Prophet 


he  would  expect  to  see  her  on  the  following  Thursday,  and 
then  Althea  would  tell  him  that  she  was  gone. 

Waveney  tried  to  console  herself  with  the  thought  that  she 
would  see  him  at  the  wedding,  for  both  he  and  his  sister  were 
to  be  among  the  guests.  But  when  one  is  in  love  even  five 
weeks'  absence  seems  like  an  eternity  in  prospect.  And 
Thorold's  silent  influence  and  unspoken  affection  was  already 
dominating  Waveney's  entire  nature. 

It  was  a  sultry  July  day,  and  Althea  had  proposed  to 
Doreen  that  ices  and  dessert  should  be  served  in  the  verandah 
of  the  Porch  House,  overlooking  the  tennis  lawn ;  and  when 
dinner  was  over  she  led  the  way  to  the  garden.  When  they 
came  in  sight  of  the  verandah,  Lord  Ralston  expressed  his 
approval  with  his  usual  frankness,  but  Everard  looked  at 
Althea  rather  meaningly. 

"It  reminds  me  of  Kitlands,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice. 
"  Don't  you  remember  you  often  had  dessert  on  the  terrace  ?" 
And  Althea  smiled  assent. 

"  Dorrie  and  I  are  very  fond  of  these  al  fresco  meals,"  she 
observed.  "  I  think  in  summer  we  should  like  to  have  them 
all  in  the  open  air." 

And  then,  as  they  seated  themselves  in  the  comfortable 
hammock  chairs,  Doreen  came  across  the  grass  with  some  let- 
ters in  her  hand.  She  had  intercepted  the  postman  on  his 
way  to  the  house. 

"They  are  mostly  for  me,"  she  said,  looking  at  the  ad- 
dresses. "One  from  Aunt  Sara,  and  another  from  Laura 
Cameron,  and  Mrs.  Bell's  account.  Yours  will  keep,  Althea; 
it  is  only  a  business-looking  document  from  Mr.  Duncan. 
Correspondence  with  one's  family  lawyer  is  not  particularly 
interesting,"  added  Doreen,  briskly. 

"Is  old  Andrew  Duncan  still  in  existence?"  asked  Lord 
Ralston,  casually,  as  he  handed  an  ice  to  Mollie. 

Everard  looked  up  quickly. 

"  Andrew  Duncan  &  Son,  of  Number  Twenty-one,  Lincoln's 
Inn  ?     I  did  not  know  he  was  your  lawyer,  Miss  Harford. ' ' 

But  Noel  suddenly  broke  in. 

"Why,  that  is  our  Duncan,  father!"  he  exclaimed,  rather 
excitedly.  "The  veiled  Prophet  is  his  client,  you  know. 
That  reminds  me,"  he  went  on,  with  a  glance  at  his  sisters, 
"I  am  going  to  beard  the  old  lion  in  his  den,  one  of  these 
days.  The  Veiled  Prophet  shall  be  unmasked,  as  sure  as  my 
name  is  Noel  Ward." 

297 


Mollie's  Prince 

"  Noel  is  speaking  of  the  unknown  benefactor  who  is  so 
generously  educating  him,"  explained  Everard.  "The  silly- 
children  always  speak  of  him  as  the  Veiled  Prophet " 

But  here  he  stopped  suddenly,  as  though  he  were  shot. 
He  had  been  addressing  Althea,  who  was  sitting  near  him ; 
but  at  his  first  word,  her  pale  face  had  become  suddenly 
suffused  with  a  painful  flush,  which  deepened  every  moment. 
That  scorching  blush  seemed  burnt  into  her  very  soul  as  she 
sat  with  downcast  eyes,  unable  to  say  a  word. 

"Will  any  one  have  any  strawberries?"  asked  Doreen, 
hastily.  Althea' s  confusion  filled  her  with  compunction,  and 
she  was  anxious  to  atone  for  her  carelessness.  She  handed 
some  to  Everard  as  she  spoke,  but  he  waved  them  aside  with 
some  impatience. 

"Good  heavens!  was  it  you,  Althea?"  he  asked,  in  a 
tone  of  dismay. 

Then  Noel  sprang  from  his  chair. 

"It  is  Miss  Harford  !"  he  said,  loudly.  "By  Jove!  this 
is  a  surprise  !"  and  the  boy's  face  grew  suddenly  red.  "All 
these  years  we  have  been  talking  of  the  Veiled  Prophet,  and 
it  never  entered  into  our  heads  that  it  was  a  prophetess." 

"My  friend  the  humourist  has  evidently  hit  it,"  observed 
Moritz,  airily ;  but  he  was  looking  keenly  at  Althea.  "  Other 
people  can  play  comedies,"  he  said  to  himself;  and  then  he 
twirled  his  moustache  until  it  was  perfectly  ferocious-looking, 
and  fell  into  a  reverie. 

Poor  Althea  tried  to  speak,  tried  to  rise  from  her  chair, 
but  two  pairs  of  white  arms  kept  her  a  prisoner.  Waveney 
and  Mollie  were  kneeling  beside  her. 

"Dear,  dearest  Miss  Althea,  was  it  really  you?"  asked 
Waveney,  and  the  tears  were  running  down  her  face,  and 
Mollie  was  covering  her  hand  with  kisses.  "  How  could  we 
guess  that  you  were  Noel's  unknown  friend?" 

"Hold  your  tongue,  old  Storm-and-Stress !"  interrupted 
Noel,  with  boyish  abruptness.  "A  fellow  can't  edge  in  a 
word  with  you  women.     It  is  for  me  to  thank  Miss  Harford ; 

it  is  for  me Oh,  confound  it  all !"     And  here  Noel,  to 

everybody's  surprise,  and  his  own  too,  suddenly  bolted. 

"  Let  me  go  to  him  !"  pleaded  Althea,  gently. 

She  had  not  said  one  word,  or  lifted  her  eyes  to  Everard's 
face.  As  she  passed  him,  her  dress  almost  brushing  against 
him,  he  made  no  attempt  to  detain  her.  Doreen  followed 
her ;  and  then  Moritz  joined  the  agitated  little  group. 

298 


The  Veiled  Prophet 

"  My  cousin  is  a  good  woman,"  he  said,  with  solemnity, 
as  though  he  had  just  discovered  the  fact.  "  She  has  noble 
purposes,  and  has  the  courage  to  follow  them  out.  I  admire 
especially  the  finesse  and  cleverness  with  which  she  has 
elaborated  and  carried  out  her  beneficent  scheme.  It  might 
almost  be  compared,  in  its  grandeur  of  conception,  and  its 
marvellous  diplomacy,  with  another  drama  of  human  life,  in 
which  I  have  played  a  part."  And  here  Moritz  looked  at  his 
young  fiancee,  and  his  humour  changed.  "  Come  and  take 
a  turn  with  me,  Mollie  darling,"  he  whispered  in  the  girl's 
ear  ;  and  then  Waveney  and  her  father  were  left  alone. 

No  one  ever  knew  what  passed  between  Althea  and  Noel  in 
the  Porch  House;  but,  for  the  rest  of  the  evening,  Noel  was 
unusually  grave  and  thoughtful.  But  as  Althea  was  about  to 
return  to  the  verandah,  where  the  lad  had  already  betaken 
himself,  she  came  upon  Everard.  He  was  standing  alone  in 
the  porch,  and  was  evidently  waiting  for  her. 

It  was  now  late,  and  the  moon  had  risen,  and  Everard's 
face  was  illuminated  by  the  white  light.  At  the  sight  of  him, 
Althea' s  assumed  calmness  vanished ;  but  she  tried  to  speak 
in  the  old  friendly  way. 

"Were  you  looking  for  me,  Mr.  Ward?"  she  asked,  hur- 
riedly.    "Are  they  all  in  the  verandah  still?" 

"Yes,"  he  returned,  curtly;  "but  I  have  come  to  ask  you 
a  question.  Althea,  why  have  you  done  this ;  why  have  you 
heaped  these  coals  of  fire  upon  my  head?" 

Poor  Althea !  The  avalanche  had  fallen,  and  she  had 
nothing  more  to  fear;  never  again,  as  she  told  herself,  would 
she  live  through  such  a  moment  of  humiliation  and  shame. 
The  purity  of  her  motives  and  the  absence  of  all  self-seeking 
and  consciousness,  would  make  it  easy  to  defend  herself. 

"Mr.  Ward,"  she  said,  in  her  sweet,  pathetic  voice,  "we 
are  old  friends,  and  to  me  the  claims  and  responsibilities  of 
friendship  are  very  real  and  sacred.  When  your  trouble 
came,  when  you  lost  your  dear  wife,  I  heard  from  a  mutual 
friend  that  you  were  struggling  in  deep  waters,  and  that,  in 
spite  of  hard  work,  you  found  it  difficult  to  make  ends 
meet." 

"  That  is  true,"  returned  Everard.     "  But " 

"  Please  let  me  tell  you  everything,"  she  pleaded.  "This 
mutual  friend  often  spoke  to  me  of  your  twin  girls,  but  one 
day  he  mentioned  Noel.  '  He  is  a  bright  little  lad,'  he  said, 
*  and  very  sharp  and  intelligent ;  but  Ward  frets  sadly  about 

299 


Moliie's  Prince 

his  education.  He  has  no  means  of  sending  him  to  a  good 
school,  and  he  is  very  down  about  it,  poor  fellow!'  Those 
were  his  very  words.  I  never  forgot  them.  I  know,  from 
your  own  lips,  what  a  bright  happy  boyhood  yours  had  been. 
You  had  told  me  so  many  stories  of  your  Eton  days,  and  it 
seemed  to  me  so  grievous  that  your  son  should  be  robbed  of 
his  rightful  advantages." 

"You  forget  that  it  was  his  father  who  was  to  blame  for 
that,"  returned  Everard,  with  emotion.  "My  children  must 
reap  what  their  father  sowed.  When  I  married  Dorothy,  we 
made  up  our  minds  to  renounce  the  good  things  of  this  life. 
Oh,  I  know  the  name  of  your  informant,  Althea ;  it  was  Car- 
stairs  !  He  was  a  good  fellow,  and  he  was  in  love  with  my 
Dorothy ;  but  when  I  carried  her  off,  he  never  turned  against 
me.  I  remember  that  evening,  and  how  low  I  was  in  my 
mind  about  the  poor  boy.  But  there  !  I  am  interrupting  you, 
and  you  have  not  finished." 

"  There  is  not  much  to  say,"  replied  Althea,  gently.  "Mr. 
Carstairs'  account  troubled  me  greatly.  I  wanted  to  help  you, 
but  I  knew,  and  Doreen  knew,  too,  that  any  offers  of  assistance 
would  have  been  indignantly  refused.  We  Harfords  are  obsti- 
nate folk,  Mr.  Ward,  and  we  love  to  get  our  own  way,  and 
then  and  there  I  concocted  my  little  scheme,  and  my  good  Mr. 
Duncan  helped  me  to  carry  it  out.  But  for  Doreen 's  unlucky 
speech,  the  Veiled  Prophetess  would  have  remained  veiled." 
And  then  she  tried  to  laugh ;  but  the  tears  were  in  her  eyes. 
"  Everard,  dear  old  friend,  you  are  not  angry  with  me?"  and 
she  stretched  out  her  hand  to  him. 

"Angry!"  returned  Everard,  vehemently.  "One  might 
as  soon  quarrel  with  one's  guardian  angel,  for  Heaven  knows 
you  have  been  an  angel  of  goodness  to  me  and  mine. ' ' 

"No,  I  have  only  been  your  friend,"  returned  Althea,  a 
little  sadly.  "  But  now  it  is  your  turn  to  be  generous,  and  do 
me  a  little  favour.  Will  you  let  me  finish  my  work?  Noel  is  a 
dear  boy,  and  I  have  grown  to  love  him  j  he  and  I  understand 
each  other  perfectly.  It  was  always  my  intention  to  send  him 
to  Oxford.     Mr.  Ward,  you  will  not  refuse  me  this  pleasure  ?" 

But  Everard  shook  his  head. 

"  We  will  talk  about  that  later  on,  when  Noel  has  got  his 
scholarship;"  and  something  in  his  tone  warned  Althea  to  say 
no  more.  "She  would  bide  her  time,"  she  said  to  herself; 
and  then,  after  a  few  more  grateful  words  from  Everard,  she 
made  some  excuse  and  returned  to  the  house.     But  for  some 

300 


The  Veiled  Prophet 

time  Everard  did  not  follow  her.  He  lighted  his  cigarette, 
and  paced  up  and  down  the  garden  path. 

Coals  of  fire,  indeed !  They  were  scorching  him  at  this  very 
moment.  Long  years  ago  he  had  wronged  this  woman,  and  she 
knew  it.  He  had  inflicted  on  her  the  most  deadly  wound  that  a 
man  can  inflict.  He  had  won  her  heart,  and  then  in  his  fickle- 
ness he  had  left  her;  and  now,  in  her  sweet  nobility,  Althea  had 
rendered  him  good  for  evil.  Secretly  and  unsuspected,  she  had 
befriended  him  and  his ;  but  even  now  he  little  guessed  the  ex- 
tent of  her  benevolence,  and  that,  in  the  home  for  workers,  many 
of  his  pictures  had  found  a  place.  Althea  had  kept  her  secret 
well. 

"  Good  God  !"  he  said,  almost  with  a  groan.  "Why  are 
men  so  weak  and  women  so  faithful  ?  I  can  never  repay  her 
goodness. ' '  And  then  he  thought  of  his  dead  wife.  Dorothy 
had  been  the  love  of  his  youth ;  she  was  the  mother  of  his 
children  j  he  had  never  ceased  to  regret  her  loss,  and  he  had 
always  told  himself  that  no  other  could  take  her  place.  In  his 
way  he  had  been  faithful,  too,  but  he  knew  now,  when  it  was 
too  late,  that  he  had  built  his  happiness  on  the  wrecked  hopes 
of  another  woman's  heart. 

The  next  day  the  girls  returned  to  Cleveland  Terrace.  Althea 
had  driven  them  to  the  door,  and  then  she  left  them.  Everard 
was  out,  but  as  they  stood  in  the  old  studio,  hand  in  hand, 
Mollie's  bright  face  clouded. 

"  I  never  thought  it  was  quite  so  shabby,"  she  said,  rather 
dejectedly.  "How  bare  and  comfortless  it  looks!"  Probably 
Waveney  had  thought  the  same,  but  she  played  the  hypocrite 
gallantly. 

"Nonsense,  Mollie,"  she  returned,  energetically.  "We 
are  just  spoiled  and  demoralized  by  all  the  comforts  of  the 
Red  House.  We  will  unpack  our  boxes,  and  then  we  will  put 
the  room  in  order.  Moritz  has  sent  in  a  cartload  of  flowers, 
and  it  will  be  such  fun  arranging  them  !"  And  then  Mollie 
cheered  up ;  but  she  had  no  idea,  as  Waveney  chattered  and 
bustled  about,  that  her  head  was  as  heavy  as  lead.  It  was 
Thursday,  and  that  evening  Mr.  Chaytor  would  look  for  her. 
But  the  place  by  Nora  Greenwell  would  be  vacant. 

After  the  first  day,  things  were  better.  Lord  Ralston  paid 
them  daily  visits,  and  Althea  and  Doreen  drove  over  con- 
stantly from  the  Red  House.  Everard  was  generally  absent. 
He  had  not  yet  given  up  his  drawing  classes.  But  the  summer 
vacation  would  set  him  free.     Waveney  and  Mollie  contrived 

301 


Mollie's  Prince 

to  amuse  themselves  ;  they  sat  in  old  Ranelagh  Gardens  with 
their  work  and  books.  Moritz  often  followed  them  there. 
Sometimes,  when  Mr.  Ward  had  a  leisure  afternoon,  he  would 
organise  some  pleasure- trip.  Once  he  drove  them  down  to 
Richmond,  and  they  had  dinner  at  the  "Star  and  Garter." 
And  one  sultry  July  day  they  went  by  train  to  Cookham,  and 
spent  the  afternoon  in  the  Quarry  Woods.  Indeed,  Moritz 
was  never  happy  unless  he  was  contriving  some  new  pleasure 
for  his  darling. 

The  wedding  was  fixed  for  the  tenth  of  August,  and  on  the 
third,  Mollie  and  Waveney  returned  to  the  Red  House.  The 
trousseau  was  complete,  but  there  were  finishing  touches  that 
needed  Mollie's  presence. 

When  she  tried  on  her  wedding-dress,  and  Althea  had  flung 
over  her  head  the  magnificent  Brussels  lace  veil  that  was  one 
of  Lord  Ralston' s  presents,  she  and  Doreen  exchanged  looks 
of  admiration. 

"  She  is  almost  too  lovely,"  Althea  said  afterwards.  "  And 
then,  she  is  so  unconscious  of  her  great  beauty.  '  I  know  I 
am  pretty, '  she  once  said  to  me.  '  And  I  am  so  glad,  for 
Moritz' s  sake.'     I  think  I  must  tell  Gwen  that." 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

THE  TRUE  STORY  OF  LADY  BETTY. 

«♦  Man  is  his  own  star,  and  the  soul  that  can 
Render  an  honest  and  a  perfect  man, 
Commands  all  light,  all  influence,  all  fate, 
Nothing  to  him  falls  early,  or  too  late. 
Our  acts  our  angels  are,  or  good  or  ill, 
Our  fatal  shadows,  that  walk  by  us  still." 

John  Fletcher. 

"  They  laugh  that  win." 

Othello. 

Two  or  three  days  before  the  wedding  there  was  another 
gathering  at  the  Red  House.  Gwendoline  and  her  husband 
were  staying  with  Lord  Ralston,  and  Doreen  suggested  that 
the  Chaytors  and  Everard  Ward  should  be  invited  to  meet 

302 


The  True  Story  of  Lady  Betty 

them.  Althea  made  no  objection.  Only  when  her  sister 
proposed  dessert  in  the  verandah,  she  gently,  but  decidedly, 
put  her  veto  upon  it. 

"  There  are  too  many ;  we  had  better  remain  in  the  dining- 
room,"  she  replied,  with  heightened  colour.  And  Doreen, 
who,  with  all  her  bluntness,  had  plenty  of  tact,  said  no  more. 

Every  one  accepted.  But  at  the  last  moment  Joanna  ex- 
cused herself,  on  the  plea  of  indisposition.  But  Tristram 
Chaytor  accompanied  his  brother.  Waveney  and  Mollie  were 
dressed  alike  that  evening,  in  soft,  ivory-coloured  silk.  Only 
Mollie' s  spray  of  flowers  were  pink,  and  Waveney  wore  dark 
red  carnations.  Thorold,  who  sat  by  her  at  dinner,  noticed 
a  diamond  bangle  on  her  arm.  Waveney  saw  him  looking 
at  it. 

"It  is  a  present  from  Lord  Ralston,"  she  said.  "  I  am  to 
be  Mollie's  bridesmaid,  you  know.  Was  it  not  good  of  him. 
I  never  had  anything  so  lovely  in  my  life  before." 

Thorold  murmured  some  response.  Then  he  addressed  his 
next  neighbour.  Waveney  was  dangerously  attractive  that 
evening;  her  dark  eyes  were  bright  with  excitement  and 
pleasure,  and  in  her  white  dress  she  looked  more  like  Undine 
than  ever.  The  conversation  during  dinner  turned  upon  long 
engagements.  It  was  Gwendoline  who  started  the  subject ;  a 
friend  of  hers,  who  had  been  engaged  for  eight  years,  had 
been  married  that  very  morning.  Gwendoline  brought  down 
on  herself  a  chorous  of  animadversion  and  censure  from  the 
gentlemen,  for  saying  that  she  rather  approved  of  long  en- 
gagements, and  a  warm  discussion  followed.  The  gentlemen 
took  one  side  of  the  argument,  and  the  ladies  the  other ;  but 
Gwen  stuck  tenaciously  to  her  opinion. 

"Waiting  never  hurts  any  one,"  she  said,  oracularly. 
"Don't  you  remember  Lady  Betty  Ingram,  Moritz?  Lady 
Betty  was  an  ancestress  of  ours,"  she  continued;  "she  lived 
when  farmer  George  was  king,  and  she  was  faithful  to  her  love 
for  more  than  twenty  years. ' ' 

"  Five-and-twenty  years,  was  it  not,  Gwen?"  And  then, 
as  most  of  the  party  begged  to  hear  the  story,  Gwendoline 
narrated  it  in  her  own  charming  way. 

"  Lady  Betty  had  been  for  some  time  one  of  Queen  Char- 
lotte's ladies-in-waiting.  But  Court  life  was  not  to  her  taste; 
she  was  lively  by  nature,  and  she  disliked  all  the  etiquette  and 
restraint,  and  she  pined  to  be  back  with  her  parents  in  the  old 
home.     But  before  she  left  the  Court  she  made  the  acquaint- 

3°3' 


Mollie's  Prince 

ance  of  a  certain  Sir  Bever  Willoughby — at  least,  he  was  only 
Bever  Willoughby  then,  the  son  of  an  impoverished  baronet, 
and  heir  to  heavily  mortgaged  estates. 

"Lady  Betty  was  no  beauty,  but  she  was  considered  fasci- 
nating by  most  people.  She  was  very  witty,  and  she  danced 
beautifully,  and  handsome  Bever  Willoughby  lost  his  heart  to 
her  when  he  saw  her  walk  through  the  minuet ;  for  she  pointed 
her  toe  so  prettily  and  curtsied  with  such  exquisite  grace,  that 
Willoughby  was  not  proof  against  her  charms.  One  evening 
when  they  were  at  Ranelagh,  and  Lady  Betty  looked  more 
bewitching  than  ever  in  her  little  quilted  satin  hood,  Wil- 
loughby suddenly  addressed  her  in  an  agitated  voice. 

"  'My  Lady  Betty,'  he  said,  l  the  Court  is  not  the  place  for 
a  poor  man.  You  have  robbed  me  of  my  piece  of  mind,  but 
no  lady,  however  fair,  shall  rob  me  of  my  honour.  I  am 
going  to  win  my  laurels.  To-morrow  I  sail  for  America. 
Fare  you  well — and  God  bless  you — dear  Lady  Betty. '  And 
then  he  bowed  to  her  with  his  hand  on  his  heart,  and  for  four- 
and-twenty  years  she  never  saw  his  face  again,  though  she  heard 
of  him  often. 

"It  was  then  that  Lady  Betty  returned  to  the  old  Hall. 
And  there  she  lived  a  quiet  life,  cherishing  her  aged  parents, 
and  busy  with  her  still-room  and  herb-garden,  after  the  fashion 
of  those  days.  She  had  many  lovers,  but  she  never  married ; 
for,  as  she  once  told  her  mother,  she  had  never  met  any  one 
to  compare  with  Sir  Bever  Willoughby.  '  He  was  a  goodly 
youth, '  she  said,  '  and  when  I  looked  on  his  countenance  I 
bethought  me  of  young  David,  playing  his  harp  among  his 
sheep ;  but  he  had  one  fault,  and  it  has  spoiled  both  our  lives 
— he  was  too  proud  to  owe  his  fortune  to  the  woman  he  loved.' 

"  Lady  Betty  was  in  her  comely  middle  age  when  she  next 
saw  Bever  Willoughby.  She  had  grown  rather  stout,  but 
people  said  she  was  handsomer  than  she  had  been  in  her 
youth.  She  was  dancing  a  minuet  in  the  picture-gallery  at 
Brentwood  Hall,  when  a  tall,  soldierly-looking  man,  with  his 
arm  in  a  sling,  attracted  her  notice.  When  their  eyes  met 
Lady  Betty  blushed  like  a  girl,  but  Sir  Bever  turned  very  pale. 
When,  a  week  or  two  later,  Sir  Bever  asked  her  to  marry  him, 
Lady  Betty  looked  him  full  in  the  face. 

"  '  There  is  an  old  proverb,  Sir  Bever,'  she  said,  '  that  tells 
us  that  some  things  are  better  late  than  never  j  and  methinks 
this  wooing  of  yours  is  somewhat  tardy.' 

"  '  Say  not  so,  dear  Lady  Betty,'  he  returned,  passionately, 
304 


The  True  Story  of  Lady  Betty 

'  for  though  I  rode  away  without  telling  my  love,  I  have  had 
no  wife  or  child,  but  have  been  your  true  lover  at  heart  all 
these  years.' 

"  Then  Lady  Betty  dropped  him  a  low  curtsy ;  but  he  saw 
the  sparkle  of  tears  in  her  eyes. 

"'You  have  not  been  more  faithful  than  another,'  she 
replied.  'You  are  a  brave  soldier,  Sir  Bever,  but  you  had 
no  right  to  break  a  woman's  heart,  as  mine  was  broken  that 
evening  at  Ranelagh. '  ' ' 

"But  she  married  him?"  pleaded  Mollie,  rather  piteously, 
as  Gwendoline  paused  for  a  moment. 

"  Oh,  yes,  she  married  him,  and  they  were  very  happy ;  but 
Sir  Bever  only  lived  ten  years.  As  he  lay  dying  he  expressed 
his  regret  that  their  wedded  bliss  had  been  so  brief. 

"*  Dear  heart,'  returned  Lady  Betty,  '  your  mannish,  fool- 
ish pride  kept  my  husband  from  me  for  nigh  upon  twenty-five 
years,  but  we  will  make  up  for  it  hereafter ;'  and  then  she  fell 
on  his  breast  weeping.  <  Death  cannot  part  true  hearts,'  she 
cried,  'and  thou  wilt  be  my  own  Sir  Bever  in  heaven.'  " 

And  here  Gwen  caught  her  breath,  for  Jack  was  looking  at 
her ;  and  actually  Mollie,  silly  little  Mollie,  was  crying. 

"It  is  a  lovely  story,  Gwen,"  observed  Althea;  and  then 
she  rose  from  the  table.  A  little  later,  when  the  gentlemen 
had  had  their  coffee,  they  all  went  out  on  the  terrace,  and 
Waveney  found  herself  pacing  the  garden  paths  with  Mr. 
Chaytor. 

They  talked  on  indifferent  subjects— the  beauty  of  the  even- 
ing and  the  charm  of  a  well-kept  garden.  And  then  they 
paused  to  listen  to  a  nightingale  in  the  shrubbery.  Presently 
they  sat  down  in  the  verandah  at  the  Porch  House,  and 
watched  the  other  couples  passing  to  and  fro  below.  Lord 
Ralston  and  Mollie,  Gwen  and  Jack  Compton,  and  Doreen 
and  Tristram;  the  other  three,  Althea  and  Mr.  Ward  and 
Noel,  had  seated  themselves  on  a  bench  outside  the  library 
window.  The  moon  was  rising  behind  the  elms.  Waveney' s 
eyes  were  fixed  on  it,  when  Thorold  suddenly  broke  the 
silence. 

"  What  did  you  think  of  the  true  story  of  Lady  Betty?" 
he  asked.     There  was  something  inexplicable  in  his  tone. 

"  I  thought  it  beautiful,"  she  returned ;  "  though  I  did  not 
cry  over  it  as  Mollie  did.  They  were  both  so  faithful ;  but 
Lady  Betty  was  braver  than  Sir  Bever." 

"What   do    you   mean?"    remonstrated    her   companion. 
20  305 


Mollie's  Prince 

"Surely  it  was  better  for  him  to  ride  away  without  telling  his 
love.  You  do  not  agree  with  me" — looking  in  her  face. 
"  You  think  Sir  Bever  was  wrong  to  be  afraid  of  his  poverty." 

"Yes,  I  think  he  was  wrong,"  faltered  Waveney.  "I 
agree  with  Lady  Betty,  that  he  had  sacrificed  their  youth  to 
no  purpose.  You  see,  he  gave  her  no  chance  of  setting  things 
right  j  he  just  rode  away,  and  left  her  to  bear  her  life  as  well 
as  she  could." 

"You  are  severe,"  returned  Thorold,  eagerly.  "You  do 
not  make  an  allowance  for  a  man's  pride,  that  will  not  stoop 
to  take  everything  from  a  woman.  I  grant  you  the  story  was 
pretty,  and  that  Mrs.  John  Compton  told  it  well ;  she  has  a 
charming  voice  and  manner." 

"  Oh,  yes ;  and  she  is  so  nice.  Mollie  is  quite  fond  of  her 
already. ' ' 

"I  do  not  wonder  at  it;  but,  Miss  Ward,  I  want  to  con- 
vince you  that  you  ladies  are  not  the  only  ones  who  set  us  an 
example  of  faithfulness.  Men  may  be  proverbially  fickle,  but 
there  are  exceptions  to  the  rule." 

"Oh,  yes,  of  course." 

"  It  is  difficult  to  judge  in  some  cases.     There  was  a  friend 

of  mine ' '     Here  Thorold  hesitated  and  glanced  at  the 

girl's  averted  face.  Something  in  her  attitude — the  shy  droop 
of  the  head,  the  hands  clasped  so  tightly  on  her  white  gown — 
excited  him  and  quickened  his  pulses.  There  was  a  tremor 
in  his  voice  as  he  went  on.  "  My  friend  was  deeply  in  love 
with  a  girl.  She  was  very  young.  He  was  much  older,  and 
weighted  with  many  cares  and  responsibilities,  and  he  was 
poor — oh,  far  too  poor  to  take  a  wife." 

Again  he  paused,  but  Waveney  made  no  comment,  only 
her  hands  were  clasped  more  nervously. 

"  He  did  not  exactly  ride  away,  as  Sir  Bever  did,"  he  went 
on;  "but  he  made  up  his  mind  that  the  most  honourable 
course  would  be  to  lock  up  the  secret  of  his  love  in  his  own 
breast,  and  not  burden  that  bright  young  life  with  his  troubles. 
No!" — with  strange  emphasis — "he  loved  her  too  well  for 
that.  Dear  Miss  Ward,  surely  you  will  own  that  my  friend 
was  right." 

Waveney  would  have  given  worlds  not  to  answer.  Her 
little  pale  face  grew  rigid  with  suppressed  emotion.  Though 
she  never  raised  her  eyes,  she  was  conscious  that  he  was 
watching  her  keenly  j  his  strong  will  seemed  to  compel  her 
to  speak. 

306 


The  True  Story  of  Lady  Betty 

"My  friend  was  right,  was  he  not?"  he  repeated,  slowly, 
and  as  though  he  were  weighing  each  syllable. 

"No,"  she  returned,  abruptly;  "he  was  wrong.  He  was 
as  mistaken  as  Sir  Bever."  And  then  she  grew  crimson. 
Oh,  if  she  could  only  escape  !  If  she  could  bring  this  con- 
versation to  an  end  !  She  was  tingling  from  head  to  foot 
with  sheer  nervousness. 

"So  I  begin  to  think  myself,"  returned  Thorold,  coolly. 
And  then  his  voice  deepened  with  sudden  tenderness. 
"Waveney,  my  dear  one,  tell  me  the  truth.  Would  you 
wait  for  me  ?' ' 


Gwendoline  always  boasted  that  she  had  made  the  match. 
"For  you  know,  Jack,"  she  would  say,  "if  I  had  not  told 
that  story  about  Lady  Betty,  Mr.  Chaytor  would  never  have 
mustered  up  courage  to  speak  to  Waveney  that  night,  and 
they  might  have  been  pining  for  each  other  for  years." 

After  all,  it  had  come  about  quite  naturally.  Perhaps 
Thorold  had  read  something  in  Waveney's  eyes,  as  she  lis- 
tened to  that  old  love-story,  that  made  him  change  his  pur- 
pose of  silence.     But  he  never  repented  it. 

"  We  may  have  to  wait  for  years,"  he  said  to  her,  when  the 
first  agitation  of  their  great  joy  had  calmed  a  little.  But 
Waveney  only  gave  him  one  of  her  radiant  smiles. 

"  Faithfulness  has  not  gone  out  with  powder  and  patches," 
she  said,  in  her  quaint  way.  "I  would  rather  wait  through 
a  lifetime,  knowing  without  doubt  that  you  loved  me,  than 
have  to  exist  through  years  of  chilling  silence."  And  in  his 
heart  Thorold  agreed  with  her. 

Everard  Ward  gave  his  consent  very  willingly  when  Thor- 
old, in  rather  an  embarrassed  voice,  told  him  that  he  feared 
they  could  not  be  married  for  perhaps  four  or  five  years.  He 
received  the  news  with  profound  satisfaction. 

"  Chaytor  is  a  son-in-law  after  my  own  heart,"  he  said  to 
Althea.  "  He  will  not  rob  me  of  ray  little  girl  for  the  next 
five  years.  '  My  dear  fellow,  I  am  delighted  to  hear  it,'  I 
said  to  him ;  but  he  looked  at  me  rather  reproachfully. ' ' 

"  I  hope  they  will  not  have  to  wait  quite  so  long,"  returned 
Althea,  gravely. 

But  Everard  would  not  endorse  this.  Lord  Ralston  had 
robbed  him  of  his  Mollie,  and  he  could  not  spare  his  little 
Waveney. 

3°7 


Mollie's  Prince 

Perhaps  Althea  was  the  most  astonished  at  the  news. 
Thorold  and  Waveney  had  kept  their  secret  so  well  that  she 
had  never  guessed  it  j  but  when  her  first  surprise  was  over, 
she  rejoiced  heartily  in  their  happiness. 

"  Thorold  has  grown  years  younger  since  his  engagement," 
she  said  one  day  to  Joanna.  "  He  is  not  half  so  grave  and 
sober  now."     And  Joanna  assented  to  this. 

"  I  am  getting  very  fond  of  Waveney, ' '  she  replied.  ' '  Tris- 
tram likes  her,  and  so  does  Betty. ' ' 

But  Joanna  spoke  without  enthusiasm.  Her  brother's 
choice  had  greatly  surprised  her,  and  privately  she  thought 
his  engagement  to  a  penniless  girl  was  an  act  of  pure  folly. 
"If  he  had  only  married  a  girl  with  money  !"  she  would  say 
to  Tristram  sometimes. 

But  Althea,  who  had  not  outlived  romance,  approved  thor- 
oughly of  the  engagement.  She  saw  that  Waveney  entirely 
satisfied  Thorold — that  she  was  the  light  of  his  eyes,  and  the 
desire  of  his  heart.  "My  lonely  days  are  over,"  he  once 
said  to  her.  And  it  was  true.  Waveney's  bright  intelligence 
enabled  her  to  take  interest  in  all  his  work,  and  he  could  share 
all  his  thoughts  with  her. 

When  Mollie  and  Lord  Ralston  plighted  their  vows  in  the 
old  church  at  Erpingham,  Thorold  was  making  silent  vows  in 
his  heart,  and  looking  at  a  little  white  figure  with  worship- 
ping eyes.     And  Waveney  was  repeating  her  Te  Deum. 

"Oh,  Mollie,  I  don't  think  you  are  happier  than  I  am," 
she  whispered,  when  they  were  alone  together  for  a  moment. 

But  Mollie  looked  just  a  trifle  dubious.  Thorold  was  very 
nice  and  clever,  and  she  meant  to  be  quite  fond  of  him ;  but 
he  could  not  be  compared  to  her  Moritz. 

"  Oh,  Wave,  do  you  know  what  I  heard  as  we  came  out  of 
church  just  now?"  she  said,  merrily.  "  Somebody  near  me 
said,  '  The  lame  bride  is  a  real  beauty,  and  they  say  she  is 
a  ladyship  now.'  "  And  then  Mollie  laughed  gleefully,  and 
gave  her  satin  train  a  little  fling.  "  Wasn't  it  funny?  But  I 
don't  think  Moritz  quite  liked  it.  And  Wave" — and  now 
Mollie's  dimples  were  in  full  play — "somehow  I  could  not 
feel  quite  grave  when  Colonel  Treherne  called  me  Lady 
Ralston." 


308 


"  Wooed,  and  Married,  and  A'  " 

CHAPTER  XLII. 
"wooed,  and  married,  and  a\" 

Mir.  "  Here's  my  hand." 

Fer.  "  And  mine  with  my  heart  in  it." 

The  Tempest. 

"  There's  a  divinity  that  shapes  our  ends, 
Rough  hew  them  how  we  will." 

Hamlet. 

It  was  arranged  that  Waveney  was  to  remain  at  the  Red 
House  while  painting  and  papering  were  being  carried  on  at 
Number  Ten,  Cleveland  Terrace. 

Ann,  the  heavy-footed,  was  dismissed  with  a  month's  wages, 
and  Mrs.  Muggins  accompanied  her.  A  competent  caretaker 
was  put  in  charge.  And  Althea  had  already  engaged  two 
capable  maids,  to  come  in  when  the  work  of  renovation  was 
complete. 

It  was  the  first  time  Doreen  and  Althea  had  ever  spent 
August  in  town;  but  Mrs.  Mainwaring's  sudden  illness  had 
detained  them,  and,  as  soon  as  she  was  fit  to  travel,  they  had 
promised  to  stay  with  her  at  Whitby. 

While  Waveney  remained  with  her  friends,  Everard  Ward 
and  his  son  went  down  to  a  farm-house  in  Yorkshire,  that 
Lord  Ralston  had  recommended,  where  they  would  have  ex- 
cellent accommodation,  at  a  very  moderate  price,  and  very 
good  fishing.  It  was  the  first  real  holiday  that  Everard  had 
enjoyed  for  years,  and  Noel  wrote  ridiculously  illustrated  epis- 
tles, retailing  sundry  ludicrous  adventures.  "  His  revered 
parent,"  as  he  informed  Waveney,  "was  becoming  fatter, 
and  more  plebeian,  every  day. "  And  here  there  was  a  spirited 
pen-and-ink  sketch  of  Everard  in  a  huge  straw  hat,  fishing 
on  a  boulder,  with  a  briar-wood  pipe  in  his  mouth,  and  several 
small  fishes  winking  at  him  as  they  frisked  harmlessly  by. 
"  Caught  nothing  since  Friday  week,"  was  written  underneath 
the  picture. 

In  spite  of  her  happiness,  Waveney  could  not  reconcile  her- 
self to  Mollie's  absence.  The  parting  had  tried  them  both. 
No  one  forgot  the  bride's  tear-stained  face,  as  Lord  Ralston 

309 


Mollie's  Prince 

lifted   her   into   the   carriage.     "Oh,   do    take  care  of  my 
Wave,"  were  her  last  words  to  Althea,  as  they  drove  away. 

Waveney  shed  many  a  tear  in  her  Pansy  Room.  But  she 
cheered  up  when  Mollie's  first  letter  came.  And  after  that 
she  wrote  almost  daily.  She  was  very  happy,  she  said,  and 
Moritz  was  so  good  to  her.  But  of  course  it  was  strange, 
being  without  her  Wave.  It  was  such  a  lovely  place,  and  the 
cottage  was  so  cosy.  They  were  out  all  day,  fishing,  or  wan- 
dering over  the  purple  moors.  Sometimes  Moritz  had  a  day's 
shooting  with  the  keeper,  and  then  she  and  Donald,  the 
gamekeeper's  son,  drove  down  with  the  luncheon.  They  had 
dinner  at  eight — quite  a  grand  dinner,  and  Donald  waited  on 
them.  ' '  I  have  given  up  pinching  myself  hard,  to  be  sure 
that  I  am  not  dreaming,"  she  wrote  once,  "but  for  all  that  I 
am  leading  a  story-book  existence.  Oh,  I  am  so  happy, 
darling  !  I  can  hardly  say  my  prayers  without  crying  for  sheer 
thankfulness.  My  dear  Moritz  spoils  me  so  dreadfully.  He 
says  he  hates  me  to  be  out  of  his  sight  for  a  moment,  and  if  I 
were  to  believe  half  he  says  I  should  be  as  conceited  as  possible. 
It  is  just  his  blarney,  I  tell  him.  And  then  he  pretends  to  be 
affronted." 

"Don't  you  believe  her,  my  dear,"  wrote  a  masculine 
hand.  "  She  is  a  perfect  darling,  and  the  sweetest  little  wife 
in  the  world.  When  it  comes  to  pinching  oneself  I  can 
hardly  believe  I  am  that  lucky  and  much-to-be-envied  fellow, 
your  affectionate  brother-in-law, 

"Monsieur  Blackie." 

When  Althea  showed  Waveney  the  improvements  she  and 
Doreen  had  effected  in  Number  Ten,  Cleveland  Terrace,  the 
girl  could  hardly  believe  her  eyes.  New  papers,  and  carpets, 
and  curtains,  had  quite  transformed  the  dingy  old  house.  The 
stairs  were  covered  with  crimson  felt,  and  the  studio,  and  the 
bare,  ugly  room,  where  the  sisters  had  slept,  looked  perfectly 
charming. 

"A  little  money  and  a  good  deal  of  taste  do  wonders,"  ob- 
served Althea  in  a  matter-of-fact  tone.  But  Waveney  wasn't 
so  sure  about  the  money.  Moritz  had  evidently  given  his 
cousins  carte  blanche,  and  though  there  was  very  little  new 
furniture  in  the  studio,  the  fresh  cretonne  and  flowering- 
plants  gave  it  an  air  of  finish  and  refinement. 

It  was  a  pleasant  life  they  led  there.     Never  since  his  wife's 

310 


"Wooed,  and  Married,  and  A' " 

death  had  Everard  been  so  content  and  happy.  Mollie's  bril- 
liant marriage  gave  him  great  satisfaction,  and  he  had  no  fear 
of  losing  his  little  Waveney  for  many  a  year  to  come.  He  was 
set  free  from  the  drudgery  he  hated,  and  he  and  Waveney  were 
always  together.  Thorold  spent  his  Sundays  with  them,  and 
he  came  one  evening  in  the  week  beside.  They  had  made  this 
rule  at  the  beginning,  and  he  never  infringed  on  it. 

Every  fortnight  or  so  they  dined  at  the  Red  House,  and 
Althea  often  had  tea  with  them  when  she  drove  into  town. 
She  and  Everard  had  resumed  their  old  friendliness ;  neither 
of  them  had  forgotten  that  scene  in  the  verandah  of  the  Porch 
House,  but,  by  mutual  consent,  the  subject  of  Noel's  education 
had  been  dropped  for  a  time. 

At  the  beginning  of  October  the  newly  married  pair  re- 
turned to  town,  and  spent  a  week  at  Eaton  Square,  and  Mollie 
and  Waveney  were  together  every  day. 

"Why,  Mollie,  I  declare  you  have  grown  an  inch  taller," 
were  Everard 's  first  words  to  her ;  and  privately  he  thought 
that  young  Lady  Ralston  was  even  handsomer  than  Mollie 
Ward  had  been.  Both  he  and  Waveney  agreed  that  happi- 
ness and  prosperity  had  not  spoilt  their  darling ;  she  was  the 
same  simple,  light-hearted  creature,  thinking  as  little  of  her- 
self, and  rejoicing  over  her  pretty  things  as  a  child  might 
have  done. 

Perhaps  there  was  a  little  veil  of  shyness  and  reserve  when 
she  spoke  of  her  husband.  Moritz  was  evidently  perfect  in 
her  eyes ;  but  only  to  Waveney  did  she  dwell  on  his  good 
qualities. 

"People  do  not  know  him,"  she  said  once — "they  think 
him  eccentric ;  but  it  is  just  his  way  of  talking.  He  is  so 
true,  Wave ;  Gwen  says  that  she  is  sure  that  he  has  never  told 
a  lie  in  his  life,  and  he  is  so  unselfish,  he  is  always  wanting  to 
make  people  happy.  When  he  was  so  poor  he  would  deprive 
himself  of  a  meal  if  a  beggar  looked  hungry ;  and  now  he  is 
always  planning  some  generous  gift  or  other.  He  lends  his 
shooting  lodge  to  poor  artists  or  curates.  Oh  !  I  cannot  tell 
you  half  of  the  things  he  does.  He  calls  me  his  little  bless- 
ing j  but  I  feel  I  can  never,  never,  repay  his  goodness."  And 
here  such  an  exquisite  blush  tinged  Mollie's  cheeks,  that  it  was 
a  pity  Lord  Ralston  did  not  see  it. 

Mollie  was  naturally  anxious  to  see  her  beautiful  home,  and 
the  lovely  rooms  that  Moritz  had  refurnished  for  her.  But  her 
regret  was  so  great  at  leaving  Waveney  that  Lord  Ralston,  who 

3" 


Mollie's  Prince 

could  refuse  nothing  to  his  sweet  Moll,  suggested  that  she 
should  pay  them  a  visit  in  November.  He  had  already  ar- 
ranged that  the  whole  Ward  family  were  to  keep  their  Christ- 
mas at  Brentwood  Hall ;  but  there  was  no  reason  why  Waveney 
should  not  spend  a  week  or  two  with  them  in  November. 

It  was  impossible  to  refuse  so  tempting  an  invitation  j  and 
when  Waveney  reached  Brentwood  Mollie  and  the  cream- 
coloured  ponies  were  at  the  station.  Mollie  was  in  a  perfect 
glow  of  pride  and  satisfaction  as  she  drove  Waveney  through 
the  village. 

Waveney's  first  act  after  unpacking  was  to  find  the  portrait 
of  Lady  Betty  in  the  picture-gallery.  Mollie  pointed  it  out 
to  her.  Lady  Betty  simpered  down  on  them  from  the  faded 
canvas.  She  had  a  round  face  and  powdered  hair  drawn  up 
under  a  lace  cap,  and  one  slim  hand  held  a  bunch  of  roses. 
Her  yellow  brocade  looked  as  stiff  as  buckram,  and  her  white 
arms  were  veiled  with  rich  lace.  "Lady  Betty  Ingram,  in  her 
twenty-fifth  year"  was  written  in  the  catalogue. 

Never  had  Mollie  or  Waveney  spent  such  a  Christmas  as 
they  spent  that  year  at  Brentwood  Hall.  Thorold  Chaytor 
was  with  them.  Lord  Ralston  kept  Christmas  in  the  old  style. 
There  were  mummers  and  carol-singers  on  Christmas  Eve,  and 
"  cakes  and  ale"  ad  libitum  in  the  housekeeper's  room. 

The  John  Comptons  came  over  from  Kingsdene,  and  the 
day  after  Christmas  Day  there  was  a  ball  for  the  servants ;  and 
on  New  Year's  Eve  there  was  a  festive  gathering,  to  which 
people  came  ten  miles  round,  and  there  was  dancing  in  the 
picture-gallery.  Madam  Compton  was  there,  looking  queenly 
in  black  velvet  and  point  lace,  and  she  and  Jack  were  delighted 
when  after  supper  Gwen  danced  a  minuet  with  her  brother. 
Owen  was  looking  her  best  that  evening.  She  wore  a  cream- 
coloured  satin  gown,  cut  somewhat  quaintly,  and  her  beautiful 
neck  and  arms  were  bare  of  ornament.  As  Gwen  moved  down 
the  picture-gallery,  Mollie  vowed  that  not  even  the  renowned 
Lady  Betty  could  have  curtsied  with  such  grace.  "  Oh,  how 
beautifully  she  dances!"  whispered  Mollie;  and  Jack  heard 
her,  and  beamed  with  delight. 

When  the  clock  struck  twelve  they  all  joined  hands,  and 
Lord  Ralston  made  them  a  little  speech.  Then  the  band 
struck  up  and  they  all  sans:  "For  Auld  Lang  Syne." 

Mollie  sat  enthroned  like  a  little  queen  all  the  time  the 
dancing  went  on.  The  diamonds  she  wore  were  hardly 
brighter  than  her  eyes.    Once,  when  her  husband  said,  a  little 

312 


"Wooed,  and  Married,  and  A'" 

sadly,  "How  he  wished  his  sweet  Moll  could  dance,  too!" 
Mollie's  lip  quivered  for  a  moment ;  then  she  said  bravely, — 

"  It  does  not  matter,  dear.  It  is  so  nice  to  have  you  help- 
ing me  and  looking  after  me." 

Nevertheless,  her  eyes  looked  a  little  wistfully  after  him  and 
Waveney  when  they  waltzed  together. 

The  spring  days  found  Waveney  at  Cleveland  Terrace  again. 
Moritz  meant  to  bring  his  wife  to  Eaton  Square  for  a  part  of 
the  season,  and  then  she  and  Mollie  would  go  to  exhibitions 
and  concerts  and  to  the  opera  together. 

Early  in  May  Waveney  was  sitting  in  the  studio  one  after- 
noon, finishing  a  long  letter  to  Mollie,  when  Thorold  suddenly 
entered  the  room.  Waveney  gave  a  little  cry  of  delight  when 
she  saw  him. 

"Oh,  Thorold,  how  delightful !"  she  exclaimed,  as  he  took 
her  in  his  arms.    "  Have  you  come  to  spend  the  evening?" 

"Yes,  if  you  will  have  me,  Waveney.  I  have  some  news 
to  tell  you." 

"  Good  news,  I  can  see  by  your  face. ' '  And  then  she  asked 
wickedly,  "  Is  Joanna  going  to  be  married?" 

"No,  my  dear;  no  one  is  going  to  be  married  but  you 
and  I  by-and-bye,  but  it  is  capital  news  for  all  that.  Tristram 
has  been  offered  a  good  berth  at  Liverpool,  and,  as  Joanna 
cannot  bring  herself  to  part  with  Betty,  she  is  going  to  keep 
house  for  them." 

"Oh,  Thorold,  how  splendid!"  And  Waveney's  eyes 
sparkled  with  pleasure.  She  was  overjoyed  at  the  idea  that 
he  was  free  at  last.  No  one  knew  better  than  she  how  un- 
congenial his  home  had  been  to  him.  Solitude  would  be 
infinitely  preferable  to  the  small  carking  cares  and  frets  of  his 
daily  life.  Joanna's  peculiar  temperament  created  an  unrest- 
ful  atmosphere  round  her.  Tristram,  who  was  of  a  blunter 
and  more  obtuse  nature,  was  less  alive  to  the  discomfort. 

Joa  was  always  a  poor  puling  thing,  he  would  say,  but  she 
was  very  good  to  his  Betty.  And  he  was  rather  relieved  than 
otherwise  when  Joanna  entreated  tearfully  to  accompany  them. 

"  Thorold  does  not  want  me  and  Betty  does,"  she  pleaded. 

"Joa  has  a  little  money  of  her  own,"  went  on  Thorold, 
"so  I  think  they  will  be  fairly  comfortable.  The  change  of 
scene  will  be  good  for  her.  They  are  to  leave  Dereham  at 
the  end  of  July." 

"That  will  be  nearly  three  months  hence,"  returned 
Waveney,  musingly.     She  was  fingering  Thorold's  coat-sleeve 

3i3 


Mollie's  Prince 

rather  absently  as  she  spoke.  It  was  one  of  her  pretty  caress- 
ing ways  with  him.  He  watched  the  little  hand  for  a  mo- 
ment as  it  smoothed  the  rough  cloth  so  gently.  Then  he 
took  possession  of  it. 

"Dearest,"  he  said,  very  quietly,  "once,  long  ago,  I  was 
ready  to  ride  away  without  telling  my  love  like  Sir  Bever,  but 
my  good  angel  stopped  me.  But  I  find  that  I  have  not  Lady 
Betty's  patience,  and  long  waiting  would  be  irksome  to  me." 
And  then  he  looked  at  her  very  wistfully.  "  Waveney,  I 
want  to  ask  you  a  question.  When  my  sister  leaves  me,  do 
you  see  any  reason  why  we  should  not  be  married?" 

It  was  evident  that  Waveney  was  extremely  startled,  and 
that  Thorold's  proposition  took  her  quite  by  surprise.  She 
grew  a  little  pale. 

"I  thought  you  could  not  afford  to  marry  for  years,"  she 
returned,  shyly. 

"  So  I  thought,"  he  replied,  with  a  smile.  "  You  see,  dar- 
ling, when  we  were  first  engaged  my  sister  was  dependent  on 
me,  and  at  that  time  Tristram  earned  very  little.  Virtually, 
I  had  to  keep  him  and  Betty.  But  all  that  will  be  changed 
now.  We  should  have  to  be  careful  and  live  quietly  for  some 
years  to  come,  but  I  am  not  afraid  of  the  future.  My  work 
is  increasing,  as  you  know.  I  have  had  to  take  better  cham- 
bers, and  our  last  case  was  so  successful  that  I  am  likely  to 
have  another  good  brief.  Tell  me  the  truth,  my  little  Undine. 
Shall  you  be  afraid  to  trust  yourself  to  my  keeping  ?' ' 

Afraid  !  Need  he  have  asked  such  a  question  ?  The  dark 
eyes  looked  at  him  with  reproachful  sweetness. 

"  Do  you  think  I  should  fear  anything  with  you?"  she  an- 
swered.    " But,  Thorold,  are  you  sure  you  really  wish  it?" 

But  Thorold's  reply  was  so  conclusive  and  satisfying  that 
Waveney  yielded. 

Everard  Ward  had  been  reading  his  paper  in  old  Ranelagh 
Gardens  that  afternoon.  The  pleasant  May  sunshine  had 
warmed  and  cheered  him,  and  he  whistled  like  a  boy  as  he 
let  himself  into  the  house  with  his  latchkey. 

But  his  cheerfulness  soon  vanished  when  he  learned  the 
purport  of  Thorold's  visit.  He  was  deceived,  betrayed  by 
the  very  man  whom  he  declared  would  be  a  son-in-law  after 
his  own  heart.     He  was  to  be  robbed  of  his  little  girl. 

What  a  fool  he  had  been  to  trust  the  word  of  a  lover ! 
His  knowledge  of  the  world  might  have  told  him  that  they 
were  all  wolves  in  sheeps'  clothing.     Five  years'  engagement ! 

3H 


"Wooed,  and  Married,  and  A* " 

This  is  what  he  had  promised,  the  arch-traitor !  and  now  he 
was  coolly  proposing  that  they  should  be  married  in  August. 

Everard  nearly  talked  himself  hoarse,  in  his  effort  to  point 
out  the  extreme  imprudence  of  the  whole  proceeding.  In 
his  opinion,  he  said,  it  was  utterly  rash,  foolhardy,  and  a 
gross  tempting  of  Providence.  All  his  life  he  had  been  an 
example  of  the  sad  result  of  an  impecunious  marriage ;  his 
son  had  been  indebted  to  charity  for  education,  and  his 
daughters  had  been  without  advantages.  Everard  waxed 
quite  eloquent  over  his  theme,  but  Thorold  refused  to  be 
intimidated.  He  demolished  all  Everard's  arguments  with 
the  ease  and  facility  of  a  skilful  lawyer;  and  Waveney  was 
on  his  side.  Everard  had  no  chance;  from  the  beginning 
they  were  both  against  him,  and  at  last  he  had  to  throw  down 
his  arms.  Even  Althea  took  their  part,  and  so  did  Mollie ; 
but  he  yielded  with  a  very  bad  grace,  and  though  he  tried  to 
hide  it  from  Waveney,  he  was  sore  at  heart  for  many  a  day. 

Waveney' s  feelings  were  very  mixed  :  her  sorrow  at  leaving 
her  father  somewhat  damped  her  happiness ;  but  Mollie  com- 
forted her. 

"  Of  course  it  is  hard  for  father,"  she  said  one  day,  when 
Waveney  was  lunching  at  Eaton  Square.  "  He  hates  parting 
with  his  children.  Don't  you  remember  how  low  he  was  on 
my  wedding  day  ?  But  he  soon  cheered  up.  It  will  be  all 
right,  Wave,  so  don't  worry.  When  you  are  once  married 
he  will  make  the  best  of  it.  Moritz  says  he  must  leave 
Cleveland  Terrace  and  take  a  nice  flat  somewhere  near  you ; 
and  when  Noel  is  at  Oxford  he  can  divide  his  time  between 
us."  And  this  view  of  the  case  was  very  consoling  to 
Waveney. 

Mollie  was  in  the  seventh  heaven  of  delight  just  then ;  she 
was  to  provide  the  trousseau  out  of  her  own  pin-money,  and 
this  thought  gave  her  so  much  pleasure  that  Lord  Ralston 
declared  she  even  laughed  in  her  sleep. 

But  Lord  Ralston' s  wedding  present  almost  overwhelmed 
the  young  couple.  He  bought  a  house  for  them  at  Kensing- 
ton and  furnished  it  from  basement  to  garret.  When  he 
placed  the  title  deeds  in  Waveney' s  hands,  she  was  speechless 
with  surprise  and  joy.  But  Moritz  refused  to  be  thanked. 
"  Mollie' s  sister  was  his,"  he  said,  in  his  airy  fashion,  "and 
it  was  his  business  to  see  that  she  was  properly  housed. 

"  Chaytor  is  a  good  fellow,"  he  went  on,  "and  I  respect 
him  highly,  and  am  proud  to  be  connected  with  him.    I  shall 

3i5 


Mollie's  Prince 

stand  your  friend  and  his,  as  long  as  you  both  deserve  it. 
And  look  here" — and  here  Lord  Ralston  glanced  at  Mollie's 
delighted  face — "if  you  and  Chaytor  would  like  to  do  your 
honeymooning  at  the  Hut,  you  are  welcome  to  it."  And 
when  Waveney  repeated  this  to  Thorold,  he  said  that  it  was 
far  too  good  an  offer  to  be  refused. 

"Ralston  is  the  prince  of  good  fellows,"  he  went  on. 
"  His  generosity  is  as  large  as  his  purse.  You  will  love  those 
Scotch  moors,  Waveney.  I  have  not  been  in  the  Highlands 
for  years ;  it  will  be  grand  to  see  the  heather  and  the  grouse 
again." 

After  all,  Everard  Ward  never  had  his  flat,  neither  did  he 
stay  long  at  Number  Ten,  Cleveland  Terrace ;  another,  and 
far  different,  fate  was  in  store  for  him. 

About  three  months  after  Waveney' s  marriage  he  went  one 
afternoon  to  the  Red  House.  He  had  only  just  returned  from 
Brentwood  Hall,  where  he  had  made  the  acquaintance  of  his 
first  grandson  ;  and,  as  usual,  he  wished  to  talk  over  the  visit 
with  his  old  friend  Althea. 

For  they  were  very  dear  friends  now,  and,  next  to  his  own 
daughters,  he  valued  her  womanly  advice  and  sympathy. 

In  summer,  the  door  of  the  Red  House  always  stood  open, 
and  he  went  in  as  usual  unannounced.  No  one  responded  to 
his  tap  at  the  library  door,  and  as  he  entered  he  thought,  for 
a  moment,  the  room  was  empty. 

The  blinds  were  down,  and  the  darkness  rather  bewildered 
him,  coming  out  of  the  sunshine.  But  the  next  moment  he 
caught  sight  of  a  grey  figure  in  the  shadow  of  the  curtain. 

Althea  was  leaning  back  in  her  easy-chair.  There  was  a 
green  shade  over  her  eyes,  and  her  face  was  pale.  Everard, 
who  had  never  seen  her  before  in  one  of  her  attacks,  was 
much  shocked. 

"You  are  ill,"  he  said,  taking  her  hand.  In  spite  of  the 
warmth  of  the  day,  it  felt  cold  and  limp.  Then  he  looked 
round  the  room.  "Where  is  Doreen?  Surely  she  has  not 
left  you  alone?" 

"Doreen  is  at  the  Home,"  returned  Althea,  in  a  weak 
voice.  "There  is  a  committee  meeting.  Please  sit  down 
and  talk  to  me.  I  want  to  forget  myself.  No,  I  am  not  ill. 
The  attack  has  passed  off,  only  I  am  stupid  and  dull." 

Dull !  Everard  felt  strangely  oppressed.  The  darkness ; 
Althea's  pale  face,  full  of  traces  of  suffering;  the  disguising 

3i6 


"Wooed,  and  Married,  and  A' " 

shade,  that  hid  the  sweet  eyes ;  the  pathos,  and  helplessness, 
and  utter  weariness,  so  evident  in  the  whole  figure; — filled 
him  with  pity.  Was  this  what  she  had  to  bear  ? — she,  who 
helped  others,  whose  whole  life  was  devoted  to  good  works  ! 
who  had  been  a  guardian  angel  to  him  and  his ! 

Everard  felt  a  sudden  impulse  that  seemed  to  impel  him,  in 
spite  of  himself.  He  got  up  from  his  seat  and  stood  beside 
her.  Then,  as  she  moved  restlessly,  as  though  disturbed  by 
his  action,  he  dropped  on  one  knee. 

"Althea,  my  dear,"  he  said,  huskily,  "we  are  neither  of 
us  young,  and  we  have  both  known  trouble.  But,  if  you 
would  have  it  so,  I  should  like  to  devote  the  rest  of  my  life 
to  you,  to  wait  on  you,  and  to  comfort  you." 

Was  she  dreaming  ?  Althea  pushed  up  her  shade  a  little 
wildly.  But  the  gravity  of  his  face  left  no  doubt  of  his 
meaning. 

"I  cannot,  I  dare  not  accept  it,"  she  returned;  and  she 
trembled  all  over.     "It  is  far  too  great  a  sacrifice." 

"It  is  no  sacrifice  at  all,"  was  Everard' s  answer.  " It  is  I 
who  am  unworthy  of  your  goodness. ' '  And  the  proud  humility 
of  his  tone  struck  to  her  very  heart. 

"I  have  loved  you  all  my  life,"  she  said  to  him,  later  on. 
"  Everard,  it  shall  be  as  you  wish.  It  will  make  me  very  happy 
to  be  your  wife.     I  know  how  good  you  will  be  to  me. ' ' 

ml*  «1#  %l*  *&»  *1»  *l»  *l* 

*f%  «rf*  ^JV»  •f,  *f+  *T»  *T* 

Doreen  was  rather  troubled  when  Althea  told  her  the  news. 
Their  peaceful  dual  life  was  over,  she  thought ;  but  when  she 
looked  at  her  sister's  radiant  face  she  chid  herself  for  her  sel- 
fishness. But  she  soon  became  reconciled  to  the  change. 
When  Everard  took  up  his  abode  at  the  Red  House  he  became 
her  chief  adviser  and  helper.  He  brought  his  masculine  in- 
tellect and  energy  to  bear  on  all  their  philanthropic  schemes, 
and  "my  brother-in-law  says  this"  or  "suggests  that"  was  for 
ever  on  Doreen's  lips. 

There  was  no  doubt  of  Althea' s  happiness.  She  and 
Everard  were  always  together.  Althea' s  sweet,  large  nature 
was  never  exacting.  She  knew  that  he  would  never  love  her 
as  he  had  loved  Dorothy,  but  this  thought  gave  her  no  pain. 
How  could  she  complain  that  anything  was  wanting  when  his 
thoughtful  tenderness  was  so  unceasing  ?  when  he  never  cared 
to  be  away  from  her? 

"  It  rests  me  to  be  near  you,"  he  would  say.  And,  indeed, 
there  was  the  truest  friendship  between  them. 

3'7 


Mollie's  Prince 

Waveney  and  Mollie  were  devoted  to  their  beloved  Queen 
Bess,  but  "our  boy,"  as  Althea  always  called  Noel,  was  the 
pride  of  his  step- mother's  heart. 

And  so,  when  her  youth  had  passed,  that  faithful  soul  reaped 
its  harvest  of  joy.  "  Thus  the  whirligig  of  Time  brings  in  its 
revenges."  But  Althea's  noble  revenge  had  been  much 
patience  and  much  love. 


THE   END. 


318 


By  John  Strange  Winter. 

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